


Life Rekindled

by Varathael



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Bonding, Developing Relationship, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Multi, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2020-02-07 14:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varathael/pseuds/Varathael
Summary: In every life, choices must be made. These choices are never made in a vacuum, however; the consequences of these choices affect not just the decision maker, but countless others involved in their lives. With the Hour of Twilight averted, the Life-Binder must make a decision, one that is only the first in a series that affects her life, the lives of her kind, and the future of Azeroth. The time has come for change, but what will her role be in the changing world? What new purpose will she serve? And who will she have beside her as she faces this new, uncertain future.





	1. A Purpose Fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the aversion of the Hour of Twilight, the purpose of the Aspects has been fulfilled. In the aftermath of the battle for Azeroth's very fate, Alexstrasza makes a choice... one that sends ripples throughout her kind as they step towards an uncertain future.

# Life Rekindled

### A Purpose Fulfilled

Alexstrasza looked at the prone, broken form of the large black dragon that lay upon the snow-covered Dragon Wastes. Her brightly glowing orange eyes leered at him in a mixture of two conflicting emotions. Her brow was furrowed, but her lips curled downward. Thrall had struck true with the Dragon Soul; the blast of her energy, combined with the powers of Nozdormu, Kalecgos, her younger sister Ysera, and the orc shaman channeling a small portion of the Earth-Warder’s power had been sufficient to blast the Elementium plates off of the Destroyer’s back and severely damage one of his wings. The Life-Binder, with the other Aspects, watched as the Aspect of Death spiraled into the lands of Northrend blanketed by perpetual winter just north of Wyrmrest Temple.

The red wyrm lit carefully upon the ground, and watched as the eldritch creatures that served the Old Gods began to fade away. Around her, purple-hued twilight dragons fell from the sky as the collective forces of her red dragonflight, the green dragonflight, the bronze dragonflight, and the blue dragonflight established air supremacy. She was joined shortly afterward by the other leaders, who looked down upon Deathwing. Each had a fiery look of judgment within their eyes, but all looked to her. She was, after all, the Queen of all dragons, as decreed by the Titans. And he had dealt her more injury than any other presently alive; the only one to have suffered as much if not more was Malygos, but he was gone.

The body shook as the black dragon coughed, and Alexstrasza’s eyes narrowed at what she saw. He was still alive. The one who had put into motion the immense losses she had suffered in her life was still alive. It was he who had led Zuluhed the Whacked to the Demon Soul, if indirectly. It was with that accursed gold disc that Nekros Skullcrusher had captured and bound her twenty-five years ago, along with Tyranastrasz and two of her other consorts. For five years, five _long_ years, she had been enslaved, forced to breed children for the Horde who would be slain if they showed weakness or resistance. She closed her eyes, and tried to relax. She almost felt the cold stone of Grim Batol beneath her feet again. She could almost hear Nekros’ gloating laugh. She almost felt again the gore of her shattered eggs, her murdered _children_ , smeared onto her face and body. Her resistance and refusal pushed him to shatter her eggs in front of her very eyes. Every waking day was hell as she felt each death her children had caused, and each death they suffered. Those she loved, her consorts and children, were killed. Long after that was Vaelastrasz’s death after Nefarian, Neltharion’s son, twisted him.

Then there was her beloved son Caelestrasz, killed by Sintharia not long ago. She thought of her beloved prime consort Korialstrasz and their last ever clutch. She thought of how he had been forced to make all of the Sanctums of each dragonflight implode, killing himself and destroying all the eggs within Wyrmrest Temple, after that damnable Twilight’s Hammer cult had corrupted them. And, finally, the last clutch she’d had with her beloved that had actually hatched; Deathwing had tortured and twisted them into his pawns, and sent them to attack her. And she had to order the champions of Azeroth fighting with herself, the other Aspects, and Thrall to put them down while the Aspects channeled their power into the Dragon Soul.

And yet here the wretch who had caused her all of this suffering lay, still alive, but heavily wounded and abandoned as the twilight dragons fled, believing their master dead. Alexstrasza’s entire body shook as here, now, was the chance to end this madness once and for all. To put a stop to his threat and bring about justice for all of the pain the maddened black Aspect had sown into the people.

“Alexstrasza…”

Her fiery eyes widened as she heard her name hiss from his mouth. It was still that infernal timbre from the elementium jaw; that likely would not change. But the tone was…different. It sounded clear and relaxed, instead of manic as it had for over ten thousand years.

“Alexstrasza, Ysera, Nozdormu…kill me. Kill me _now_!”

“Neltharion…” Ysera said, her voice quivering.

The black dragon looked at each of them again. His eyes pleaded with them. He looked almost pathetic.

“You don’t have time to be looking at me like that! I…don’t know how long I’ll be free from that madness. _Kill me_ before I turn back! Before that _thing_ takes over again!”

He looked at the red wyrm plaintively.

“Alexstrasza, please…you were given compassion by Eonar. Don’t let me suffer that madness again. If you have any mercy in you, as Aspect of Life, end me before I become that monster again. For in life there is death, and in death there is life. Kill me. End this.”

The Life-Binder could feel their eyes fall on her. They had all made up their minds beforehand that the Black Aspect must die. But would she follow through? Eonar had given her the charge to love the unlovable, to heal what others could not.

The red dragon inhaled, and then exhaled after pondering a moment. The champions were still on the summit of the Wyrmrest Temple, the domed roof having been knocked off in the fighting and thus they were standing where the Wyrmrest Accord’s ambassadors would typically meet, both during the Nexus War and in this current situation.

“No.”

The single word sent a shock through everyone present, the Black Aspect most of all.

“No?” he asked, dumbstruck.

“Death would be a mercy. It would be an escape and it would not be true justice. For all that you have done to this world, to your best friend Malygos, and to myself, you will instead live and face the scorn of those who you attempted to destroy. You will have to rebuild your own life. You will be hated, sworn at, and likely attacked. And this you will bear as you make penance, and return to your original duties as the Earth-Warder."

She looked to the orc shaman, who looked at her in stunned silence.

“Earth-Warder,” the Dragon Queen said, “release the energy of we Aspects that was imparted into the Dragon Soul. There is something I would attempt, but it will require more strength than I can muster alone, even with my full power restored to me. I will need the assistance of all the Aspects.”

“Just what do you plan to do, Alexstrasza?” Nozdormu asked.

“To heal what others cannot. The corruption of the Old Gods is strong, and I cannot lift it on my own. The moon goddess that the Night Elves worship can do this, as she has done with the Emerald Nightmare, but I alone am not strong enough. I would purge their influence from him, once and for all. It is what I should have done over ten thousand years ago.”

Thrall looked to the others who only nodded their heads in agreement. He cautiously reached out and took one of Neltharion’s scales from his body. He would not use it to destroy the Dragon Soul; he would only use it to cause enough of a scratch to release the energy. Neltharion would then repair it when freed so that it might be returned to the time stream undamaged. It had to be untouched, to allow it to be used as it was meant to in the past.

The obsidian scale dragged over the golden disc, and the energy imparted into it by Alexstrasza the Life-Binder, Kalecgos the Steward of Magic, Ysera the Awakened, and Nozdormu the Timeless One flowed back into them.

Ysera watched and waited with uneasiness as her older sister placed a claw onto the black dragon’s forehead. A wide circle of green light surrounded her feet and a glow of green energy surrounded her claws as she started to feed her power into Alexstrasza, just as she had done with the Dragon Soul.

Thrall watched as Nozdormu did similar, a wind whipping up what appeared to be sand around the Bronze Aspect’s feet, and a field of arcane magic, blue in glow, around the Blue Aspect’s. He turned to look at Deathwing, and saw that the earth was starting to surround him. Neltharion was beginning to push back against the madness. He raised his own hands to pour what little power of the Earth-Warder’s he had in him, and focused on Alexstrasza.

Flame hissed and crackled as it circled around Alexstrasza, and soon a green glow appeared around her claw as well. Twilight dragons continued to plummet lifeless to Dragonblight, and the foul fleshy masses receded further, until they completely fled.

“Neltharion! Fight it! Return to who you once were! You were my greatest supporter, you were our _friend_! Fight it!” Alexstrasza shouted.

There was a blinding flash of light, one that could be seen as far north as the floating city of Dalaran, home of the Kirin Tor, which currently hovered over the Crystalsong Forest. It faded as quickly as it came, and when it receded the four Aspects had collapsed with exhaustion, forced to their humanoid forms. All around them, the presence of the forces that Deathwing had summoned vanished.

“It is finished…we Aspects have fulfilled our purpose, the prevention of the Hour of Twilight. Though our power is diminished greatly…” Alexstrasza rasped.

“The voices…the whispers…” the black dragon said. He lifted his head up from the snow-covered ground. “They’re…gone. I don’t hear them anymore.”

“Yes, old friend. You are free of their influence. But now you have a task just as difficult ahead of you,” Ysera said.

Neltharion looked up, his now emerald eyes focused first on Ysera, then on Kalecgos, Nozdormu next, and finally Alexstrasza. He hung his head, feeling the elementium jaw still on his face and the plates still on his chest.

“I… I am sorry. I should not have listened to them. I should have—”

She raised a hand, silencing him. “There will be time later for that. For now, we must rest. This has taken much from us…and I’m sure that our allies, and the world, will want to hear of our success in preventing the end of all things,” the red wyrm said.  
She, now in her high elven form, struggled to stand from where she knelt in the snow, only to stagger once more, and fall to her knees again. Her gloved hands pressed deep into the snow under her, and she looked to the gold disc as it started to fade away, back into time, the scratch seeming to have somehow vanished, whole once more.

“I… did not expect thisss outcome,” Nozdormu said. He looked at Neltharion, perplexed. “What I sssaw and knew indicated that you ssshould have been killed at the Maelstrom by the championsss, with we Aspectsss assisting them. That you sssurvive is different from Aman’thul’s plan.”

“Nozdormu, as I said, we shall speak of all that has happened at another time. We must see to it that the champions are safe. After all, they were the ones who were most at risk, defending us from…” Alexstrasza started.

Her voice broke as she recalled just who it was that the adventurers had to fell in order to defend herself and the other Aspects. Her children, twisted by Deathwing; they were the last of her children with her beloved. But they were, as she said, no longer her clutch. They did not hold any feelings toward her, save hatred and a desire to kill her. And she could not save them. Another bitter reminder of life lost that she should have been able to protect.

 _Korialstrasz_ , she thought. _Forgive me. I could not protect our children._

The march back to Wyrmrest Temple was a slow one, fatigued as they all were from the strain. The renewed Earth-Warder was kept in the middle of the six who traveled, with Alexstrasza in the front, flanked closely behind by Ysera and Nozdormu. Kalecgos and Thrall both remained behind Neltharion, to best keep an eye on him. They, of the five who had come together to face Deathwing, were the ones who least trusted him. Kalec, after all, had only known of the Black Aspect as Deathwing, as the one who had so utterly devastated his flight and was responsible for his predecessor’s descent into a ten thousand year long madness.  
         
The audience that remained at the temple greeted the returned Aspects and Thrall with thunderous applause. The forces of the Old Gods had disappeared, and they were saved. However, all fell silent as they spied the notable frame of Neltharion the Betrayer. The dragons at the temple, most notably, were those who were most cold toward him.

Neltharion bowed his head in shame. He understood their hatred for him. There was much he was responsible for.

“The Hour of Twilight has been prevented,” Alexstrasza announced, and immediately the mood started to lift once more. “What is more… another victory has been won. The lifting of the Old Gods’ corruption from Neltharion the Earth-Warder has been accomplished. Deathwing is no more; who he once was has been restored.”

All fell silent again, and all eyes focused upon the tall figure. His skin was pale and he looked… almost human, though not quite. Clad in black armor with that same metal plate over his lower jaw.

“No. Not who I once was,” he said, his voice calm. It still had that timbre to it caused by the metal jaw. “I can never be who I once was. Nor do I want to be. That Neltharion… was weak. Not of body, no. Compassionate he may have been, but weak of will, too. He let the voices of the enemies we were meant to protect this world from lead him away from trusting those he called friends. I do not want to be him.”

Murmurs began to rise up within the crowd gathered, and soon the twenty-five champions who had helped in the fighting walked in through the southern entrance to the base. At the front of the group stood a male blood elf with long red hair, clad in armor of reds and golds and silvers. The elf looked at Neltharion with fire in his eyes.

“Eloquently spoken, but do not think that carefully chosen words will convince us to forgive so easily. You have always been skilled with words. You were very skilled at charming others into believing what you had to say. The Dragon Soul speaks to that fact.”

The Black Aspect looked to the blood elf and studied him carefully with his emerald eyes. Something was… not right about the armored elf. As he looked more closely, realization soon dawned on him. A grin cracked its way across his face.

“What is your name?” Neltharion asked.

“Varathael,” the elf replied.

“No, I don’t mean that affectation of yours that you have taken up. What is your actual name? For I know you are no elf, but one of Alexstrasza’s flight. How sly of you, to be in a group in which there were no elves to give away your identity.”

The elf grimaced, and closed his eyes.

“Considering no other dragons here had given me away I had hoped I wouldn’t have to reveal myself,” Varathael said. He let out a sigh of disappointment. “Varathaelstrasz. That is my name.”

The others in the party turned to look at their comrade, stunned. The paladin who had fought with them for so long had been a dragon this entire time?

The Life-Binder nodded and looked at the blood elf with a knowing smile. “I am relieved,” she said. “You and your fellow champions are unharmed?”

“Nothing some rest won’t fix up. I suspect that the others will not quite want to deal with being touched by dragon fire. Even if we can use it to heal, it will still be…unpleasant.”

Ysera looked warily at Alexstrasza. There were many questions in her mind right now that she felt needed to be asked. And her sister did say that they would discuss several important matters later. Now that they were within the safety of Wyrmrest Temple, surely that time was now. The Awakened flicked her eyes about, and noticed that she was not the only one who seemed to have questions begging to be asked of the Dragon Queen.

As if sensing this, Alexstrasza let out a sigh. It was one of fatigue, but also resignation. She knew she couldn’t put off the discussions forever.

“Let us, at least, go to the Chamber of the Aspects so that we might take our proper forms. I will also need time, eventually, to heal those wounds of Neltharion’s.”

It was a stalling tactic. She knew it would only buy her a minimal amount of time, and those within the spacious base of the tower also recognized it. But almost no one had ever been to the Chamber of the Aspects. Then again, no non-dragon had ever been up above the base of the tower either, until the Nexus War had broken out.

Before anyone could stop her with a question, the red-haired female elf was already on the move northward, to head to the Chamber of the Aspects. She had much to answer for…

And she had a feeling that the discussion would not be a pleasant one.  
        

By the time the rest arrived, Alexstrasza was already waiting within the cavernous room, returned to her natural form. Even as large as she was, and she was physically the second-largest of the Aspects, the sheer size of the room made even her appear small. She had taken her customary place near the center of the room, standing in front of where the archway to the Ruby Sanctum lay. The temple had been rebuilt from the damage that it suffered when Korialstrasz had sacrificed himself, but there still remained the task of rebuilding the Sanctums. She had already rebuilt the Ruby Sanctum. This was something each of the Aspects would have to do when they had time. For now, however, this could not be put off any longer.

“For those who have questions, do not hesitate to ask.”

Ysera, who had taken her spot just to Alexstrasza’s left, was the first.

“Sister, there is something that has been…troubling me for some time. Why did you not seek out Malygos during those ten thousand years? To offer him your assistance in whatever way you could? You were given the ability to heal what others cannot by Eonar.”

The Life-Binder sighed wistfully. She had expected that this might come up sooner or later.

“To be entirely truthful, Ysera, it is likely for the same reason that you and Nozdormu had isolated yourselves. After what happened with his flight, after we were removed from the battlefield by the power of the Dragon Soul, we all went into hiding,” Alexstrasza said. “And with the war against the black dragonflight, travel was…difficult. We were afraid. We were afraid that we might also be destroyed by Deathwing, just as Malygos’ flight almost was. I had tried on some occasions to reach out to him. I visited Coldarra several times...but he sealed himself off, sealed the cave. I could not bring myself to barge in on him when he wanted isolation. And I curse myself every day for making that choice not to do more.”

“Then how is it that Korialstrasz was able to bring himself to Malygos’ cave?” Ysera asked.

“Desperation. He was pressed for time. My beloved teleported himself directly into Malygos’ cave. I, unlike my beloved, cannot teleport anywhere on a whim. Korialstrasz had been to Malygos’ cave many, many times in the past, before the Sundering. He studied magic under Malygos, looked up to him and Neltharion. Many sorcerers cannot teleport. It is why I myself fly. Teleportation is magic that must be studied. There are even members of the Council of Six who could not or cannot manage it,” Alexstrasza said simply. “Remember, if you will, that he also sought Nozdormu’s aid, and yours. And that you three were reluctant at first.”

“Then permit me a question,” a human mage of the Kirin Tor said, and stepped forward. “Why did you not try and persuade Malygos to cease his actions with the surge needles? We understand his feelings about the use of arcane magic. We agree that it was becoming overused. But the surge needles along the ley lines were tearing up the planet and could have threatened all life.”

“We did, along with the members of your Council of Six,” Kalecgos interjected. He looked at the Life-Binder and bowed his head. “Forgive me for stepping in. Before a council could even be convened between mortal magi and dragons, Malygos enacted his own plan. Malygos and those loyal to him answered our pleas for negotiation with open hostility. That does, however, lead me to my own question.”

“Ask, and I will answer,” Alexstrasza said.

“Why did you not try to spare Malygos as you have spared Neltharion? Malygos’ crimes against life were, arguably, less severe than Deathwing’s,” Kalec said.

At this the black dragon lowered his head. He knew that they weren’t like to forget, especially not so soon. This was just a taste of what he knew he would be facing in the coming millennia. Much damage had been done over the past ten thousand years. It would take long for him to even begin to atone.

“Because I already failed to notice his cry for help once in the past, and that cost the entire world. Malygos was lucid when he started his war on mortal mages. Giving Neltharion the chance was my way of making up for my poor decision ten thousand years ago,” the Aspect of Life said. “What’s more, Malygos claimed that he had stored enough arcane magic with the Focusing Iris to destroy the world multiple times over. Whether he was bluffing or not, I do not know, but the chance could not be taken. In his declaration of war on mortal mages…I saw all the makings of that day ten thousand years ago, the deaths of the elves caused by the Dragon Soul...and I hardened my heart and believed I had to be decisive.”

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. When her eyes opened again, her calm mask fell away. Her features were almost contorted with pain.

“But that was wrong. I should not have hardened my heart to him. If I could rewind time and undo the mistakes I have made, I would do so in a heartbeat. But I cannot. Malygos was a dear friend. He was like a brother to me. I know he was closer to Neltharion than he was to me, but… having to take his life killed part of me, as well. He was an older brother who had, before the War of the Ancients, supported me, and I _failed_ him, completely and utterly. I couldn’t save him from his misery. I couldn’t… I couldn’t heal him despite my charge to, or rather I didn’t. I don’t even know anymore. But when I heard Neltharion’s voice call for help, not Deathwing’s, I had to do what I should have done ten thousand years ago. What I failed to do back then.”

The Timeless One who stood across from her was watching the proceedings carefully, waiting patiently for a moment in which it was time for him to inject his own thoughts. Finally, he saw his opportunity. “Be that asss it may, Alexstrasza, there is still the fact that you are making these decisionsss unilaterally. You were granted the title of Queen of the Dragonsss by Aman’thul, but we were sssstill to serve as advisorsss. Failing that, our representativesss in the Wyrmrest Accord could have spoken on behalf of our flightsss. Wasss it not why you formed the Accord?”

She nodded her head in response. “You are right, of course. I should have been listening to others, not just my own counsel and my beloved’s. It makes sense that you, Lord of Time, would be the one who sees things more objectively than the rest of us. That said; if you believed there were other options, why did you not communicate them to Chronormu that she might speak on your behalf and influence the decision in the end?”

An orc male stepped forward this time, and looked at the colossal red wyrm. “Then perhaps, with that settled, we might bring up other grievances we have. Our champions, Alliance and Horde, assisted you during the Nexus War. We fought an Aspect for you! That alone would be a suicidal task. And yet, when the time came for us to storm Icecrown Citadel…”

Varathaelstrasz, having taken his own natural wyrm form, closed his eyes. He knew immediately what was coming, once Varok Saurfang had stepped forward.

Alexstrasza also knew what was coming. It was a decision she had wrestled with when making it, and one she continued to wrestle with afterward. “You want to know why I did not help you storm the Citadel and aid in the fight against the Lich King.”

The orc grunted in response. “You’re damn right. The Scourge was raising your dead as ember wyrms, violating the sanctity of your dead! You had just as much cause to want him dealt with as we did. All the dragons here did! Yet the only one who offered their assistance, in a way, was Varathael serving as a member of the strike force.”

His hands balled up into fists as he looked at the Life-Binder, enraged. “Do you know what could have happened? These champions who helped you defeat Deathwing; they could have been _killed_ by Arthas! He was likely eager to turn them into his soldiers of the Scourge, just as he did my son! It is by some miracle they were not. Our champions would never have been able to help you stop the Hour of Twilight. One of your own flight could have died fighting on our behalf!” he ranted. His right hand was outstretched, gesturing to the red wyrm standing beside the Red Aspect.

Varathaelstrasz had to fight to keep himself from shaking. It was a sore subject for him as well. Alexstrasza had thanked the group of adventurers who had fought Malygos and risked their very lives facing arguably the most powerful mage in Azeroth. But there was no such word of thanks for halting Arthas’ campaign from the Dragon Queen, no question about what happened at the top of the dark citadel in the middle of the northernmost reaches of Northrend. But, as the orc had conjectured, Arthas had slaughtered them all with ease, even if no individual present other than he and his company knew that Saurfang’s conjecture was in fact the reality.

The orc’s eyes were narrowed as he looked from the male wyrm to Alexstrasza. “Did you even bother thanking him, or express any sort of concern? Were you concerned at all about him or about any of those who faced the Lich King?”

“I—“

Varathaelstrasz could sit by no longer. “She didn't know. I did not tell her what happened in detail. All she knew was that Arthas was slain, by mortal hands.”

The orc looked at Varathaelstrasz. All present did, including the Aspects and his comrades. Alexstrasza was the most unbalanced emotionally at present, both by the orc's words and the dragon’s. 

“I didn’t join the fight against Arthas to receive thanks from my queen,” Varathaelstrasz said. He looked carefully at Alexstrasza, hoping that his queen would not take offense to him interrupting her from speaking. “I did not volunteer to fight against Deathwing, despite knowing just how severely the odds would be stacked against us, to gain her favor. I joined the fight to protect the world, as is the charge of we dragons. Azeroth is my home and I will defend it to the death.”

Alexstrasza looked to the smaller red wyrm, and seemed to smile, even if it was physically impossible for dragons to do so. She owed him a considerable debt, him and the other champions of the world. “Varathaelstrasz… thank you. Thank you for your service to the world. To this flight…”

“I’m happy to be of service, my queen.”

“My point,” Saurfang said, “is that you are out of touch with mortals. Yes, you have guided us, and protected us. Even after what the Old Horde did to you, you’ve still seen fit to protect all life, including orcs, despite you and your get having every right to scorn us and exclude us from your charge. But you see us as children who need to be shepherded, and less as those who are to eventually step up and forge our own destinies.”

“I have something else to bring up,” Varathaelstrasz said. The rest turned to look at him. “A potential reason she did not leave to reinforce the siege of Icecrown Citadel. The black dragonflight, represented by Nalice, was part of the Wyrmrest Accord during the Nexus War. It was an alliance made out of necessity. They shared a common enemy with us. Once Malygos was slain, and the war ended, that mutual enemy evaporated. Because of this, as the only Aspect who was here, her presence was a deterrent against any form of treachery, at least for a time, up until the invasion of the Ruby Sanctum where we kept our eggs. Leaving would have been an open invitation for them to make a move much sooner than they did.”

Alexstrasza shook her head as she heard the wyrm state as much. It was a passable reason, but truthfully not the reason she had done so. And it was for this very reason that she felt even more ashamed.

“Varathaelstrasz, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but these questions are being asked of me. Furthermore, I must admit that I see the wisdom in these questions,” she said. “And so I have my own thoughts on where to go from here. Now, with our purpose fulfilled, we must gradually cede the shaping of the destiny of Azeroth to the mortals. This does not mean, however, that we no longer have a place in this world. As for myself, I plan to find my own new purpose. And I hope that we will give Neltharion the fair chance to atone for what Deathwing did to this world.”

“Why? What’s to stop him from turning against us? He did, after all, hate mortals,” a human woman called out.

Ysera looked at the woman, disappointment in her rainbow-hued eyes.

“Who among you believed my sister would destroy the Horde with her flight as reprisal for what was done to her by the Dragonmaw clan?” Ysera asked. There was a great deal of murmuring in response to this question. “But look at how it has changed and grown. There are heroes on both sides; individuals who are cruel and others who are noble. And lest the Alliance should forget, you have had your own fair share of men and women who were anything but honorable.”

“Need I mention Othmar Garithos?” Nozdormu asked.

Immediately the mood of the room changed as the contempt from blood elves within the Chamber of Aspects rose in a crescendo at the mere mention of the marshal.

Alexstrasza let out a loud yawn. The mortals looked at her, astonished. None among them could ever recall hearing a dragon, let alone an Aspect, let out a yawn, nor had they heard one so loud. “Forgive me…the battle was more taxing than I thought. I think what would be best for us all is to return to where we belong, and take a rest we have all earned.”

The murmurs started up again as the mortals and other dragons began to disperse. Few were satisfied with her explanations. Ysera, in particular, looked suspicious of her. The withering gaze she gave to her older sister cut through the Red Aspect more deeply than any blade could. As the champions began to leave, the Life-Binder looked at the red wyrm male. “Hold, Varathaelstrasz. There is something I must discuss with you, but I would prefer it be for you alone to hear. Pray join me in the Ruby Sanctum.”

Before he could give his answer, however, the Aspect of Life passed through the waygate leading into their sacred ground. Varathaelstrasz let out an exasperated sigh. Just what did his queen have in store for him?


	2. Revelations and Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With questions burning, and past decisions already creating a stir, the Queen of Dragons is in a state of uncertainty. Where should she go from here? What should she do? Turning to one who has fought long and hard in her name, she asks of his ardors, and begins to formulate her own plans; plans that will have an enduring impact.

# Life Rekindled

### Revelations and Resolve

Alexstrasza waited patiently within the center of the re-grown Ruby Sanctum for the wyrm who she had summoned. She looked around at the surrounding trees and mountains. The sky was in a perpetual state of dawn, the start of a new day, the time in which life woke up to greet a new chance. The sanctums of each flight were separate dimensions, created by their Aspects into such an appearance that represented the Aspect’s desires. Typically, entry into a sanctum was forbidden for mortals, but on one occasion in the past there had been a need for adventurers to enter the Ruby Sanctum. The guards outside had been slain by the black dragonflight shortly before Deathwing’s return, shortly before the Shattering, and invaded by members of the black flight, who were led by a twilight dragon by the name of Halion. But that was only the first incursion.

She looked to her left, towards the ledge upon which she remembered her last clutch of eggs had been resting. She swallowed, and fought back the desire to weep. She remembered the vision that Go’el had shown to her in her despair at Desolace. She remembered how her Beloved had looked carefully after their eggs, only to find them twisted by the Twilight’s Hammer…to find that he himself was starting to become twisted after touching one of them.

No. She could not dwell on it. She would not dwell on it. He had saved them all. He was the best of them all, no matter how undeserving he always believed himself to be of such praise. Her head turned, and she looked at the crisp red leaves that stayed permanently in the boughs of the trees surrounding this place. The Ruby Dragonshrine to the west of Wyrmrest Temple was not unlike this place, though it served a very different purpose. She closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. She could still hear his laughter, even if it was just a memory.

“Beloved…” she whispered.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence and her fiery eyes opened. Varathaelstrasz walked away from the waygate and stopped some distance away from her. She watched as he sat down upon his haunches, and bowed his head in reverence.

“You wished to speak with me, my Queen?”

She regarded him with a mixture of relief and sadness; relief that he had come; sadness that he seemed distant from her both physically and emotionally. She could see it in his red-orange eyes; his thoughts were divided.

_High Overlord Saurfang’s words must have resonated deep with him_.

The Life-Binder walked as if smiling, in spite of herself. Perhaps it would help him to relax, if he believed that she was not so emotionally drained herself.

“Yes. You are having a hard time with recent events, and are no doubt tired. After all, you and your comrades did have to cut a swath through much of Deathwing’s forces. Come closer, you need not be so far from me, child.”

He flinched visibly at the word. He was over six thousand years old, an age at which a dragon was considered to be fully matured, and yet the sheer disparity in their ages was insurmountable. She was over fifty-nine thousand years older than he, and so to her he must surely seem as a child in comparison.

Regardless, he could not decline a request made by her. She was the Queen of Dragons, and also the leader of his flight. He stood from where he sat and walked closer to her. Even standing tall, the difference in their size was considerable. She was easily more than twice his size, as all Aspects were compared to those of their flights. The only dragons to have ever been larger than even the Aspects were the monstrosity created by Nefarian’s experiments and given life by the traitor Arygos’ blood, Chromatus; and the father of the Aspects himself, Galakrond.

“I wish for you to tell me about all that you experienced when you stormed Icecrown Citadel.”

“My Queen, I—”

“Please. I must know. I must know about what it is that you faced. I need to know about what I failed to assist with, and failed to notice.”

The male wyrm let out a sigh. It was not a time he enjoyed thinking back on. He supposed he could not blame her, however, for wanting to know. Varok Saurfang had backed her into a corner earlier with his accusations, and he could not help but wonder if she could sense the disquiet that had been in his heart and mind that she had not, at the time, asked about what had happened.

“I will not go over every minute detail, but I will tell you of the most significant events. When we entered the Citadel, we could hear Arthas mocking his prisoner, mocking Bolvar Fordragon, specifically. As Highlord Fordring and High Overlord Saurfang heard his voice, they immediately came to the conclusion that they must save Highlord Fordragon, that they might end the fighting that had erupted between the Alliance and Horde following the disaster at the Wrathgate of Angrathar. The breakdown in the truce came as a result of King Wrynn of Stormwind refusing to trust the Horde again after the apparent death of Fordring at the hands of Putress. Bolvar is now the Lich King, and swore everyone at the summit of the citadel to secrecy. I, my company, Tirion, and now you are the only ones who know what happened.”

Alexstrasza closed her eyes, and remembered clearly the day of that ill-fated attack. Even now she wondered if she had made the right choice that day.

“With all due respect, my Queen, why did you elect to keep the Alliance and Horde in the dark as to what had happened to Bolvar Fordragon? Why did you decide it was better for them not to know that he had been resurrected, albeit irrevocably changed, by our flight’s fire?” Varathaelstrasz asked.

His voice was strained; she could tell it was taking every fiber of his being not to be angry.

“It purged the plague from him and restored him to life. The war that broke out anew between the Alliance and Horde could have been completely avoided if we had told them the truth! Arthas could have been stopped much sooner than he was.”

The Aspect of Life opened her mouth to speak, and then paused. It was a question she had asked herself, at least in her own mind, constantly. Her charge was to protect life. Yet by deciding consciously not to tell the two factions the truth, all that had resulted was the loss of yet more life in their conflict that arose over the paladin’s seeming demise.

“It…was a severe lapse in judgment on my part. There are many things that, now that I think back on them, were far more foolish than I had believed they could possibly be at the time.” She watched him cautiously. To admit fault was often something difficult for any leader to do. At times it was something that a leader _could not_ do, lest it undermine their authority. “I have taken our kind’s longevity for granted…and failed to consider how mortals would react to such events. My tendency to take a long view of things blinded me to other potential perspectives. I believed that the mortals, when they learned that the paladin was alive, would cease hostilities on their own, as that was the catalyst for renewed warfare. I did not foresee that Bolvar would become the new Lich King and swear you to secrecy, nor did I foresee the war continuing regardless of that truth being discovered.”

He lay down near her, and his mind began to race. Was she admitting her mistakes? It was almost unheard of from her.

“Afterward, we gradually made our ascent up the citadel. Dranosh Saurfang, High Overlord Saurfang’s son, who was cut down at the Wrathgate by Arthas himself, was among those we faced. He was raised into undeath to serve as a death knight for the Scourge. We were forced to cut him down again, and to this day I can still hear, in the recesses of my mind, the sounds of Varok Saurfang’s sobbing as he carried his son’s corpse. The other most notable portion of our assault was finding Valithria Dreamwalker trapped inside, captured, with the Scourge trying to kill her so that they might raise her up into undeath as a servant of his.”

Alexstrasza froze. “My sister…one of her flight was captured?”

“Yes. I can still remember hearing Arthas’ voice issuing a command to the undead. He… commanded them to hasten the destruction of her body due to our intrusion. He… commanded them to leave only bones and sinew so that she might be reanimated. My Queen, had we not arrived when we did, Arthas’ depravity would have affected not just the blue, black, and red flights, but also the green flight.” His voice quavered as he thought of the events; for a custodian of life, to see it made a mockery of was an affront to all he knew and valued.

“You remember, yes, how he raised blue dragon corpses as frost wyrms with the aid of Sindragosa, how his servants plundered the Obsidian Dragonshrine to raise the dead black dragons as magma wyrms? I trust that you remember also that there was the assault on our own shrine to our deceased, murdering the attendants, and raising them as ember wyrms, with even Dahlia Suntouched, one of your Dragonsworn, slain and made into a banshee servant, correct?”

She remembered. She remembered how the champions had brought news of Dahlia’s death, of the attack on the sacred burial grounds of her flight, to her Beloved who had been standing right next to her. She had shaken with anger and grief then, and started to do so again. His words ripped through her, tore at her. How could she not have done something to actively take justice for what the Lich King had done to her people? How could she not seek justice for what he had done to various mortals, Alliance and Horde?

“Afterward, we put Sindragosa to rest. We brought her essence back here, so that it might finally find rest within the Azure Dragonshrine. But that was only after… after the battle with Arthas at the top of the Citadel, where the Frozen Throne was perched. Highlord Fordring was the first to challenge Arthas, who merely froze him where he stood.”

He paused, and his body started to shake. She could not help but watch him, and pangs of remorse shot through her, arrows of admonishment for her failure to act.

“We fought. And we fought. It seemed to go on forever, though I know it was just a short skirmish. He had been toying with us. In one swift, tremendous surge of power the twenty-five of us besides Tirion were slain. Our souls were… they were ripped into the very blade of Frostmourne itself. I could hear the countless screams of everyone killed by that accursed runeblade. Uther the Lightbringer, Terenas Menethil, Anasterian Sunstrider, and Arthas himself were among those voices. I could hear the screams of my comrades as they were tormented in that tempest of souls, and I remember my own voice joining that chorus.”

His trembling grew stronger. His voice had cracked as he spoke of his own death. Alexstrasza wanted to do something, to say something, but she could not find the words nor think of what the proper thing to do in this situation was. What could she possibly offer or say to one who, unlike her, has actually _died_ and somehow returned to life? Worse, someone who has had his soul ripped from his own body and cast into a maelstrom of other souls?

“Varathaelstrasz…” she said gently after a moment of consideration. “I… forgive me. Forgive me for never considering the immense danger you had put yourself in, on behalf of our charge. Forgive me for not acting in that conflict myself. And… forgive me for having never thanked you or asked after your health after that battle. But… what else happened?”

“He planned to raise the twenty-five of us as his greatest servants. Somehow, Highlord Fordring was freed from the ice, and had cleft Frostmourne in twain. Our souls and the rest that had been trapped within Frostmourne were unleashed and Terenas did… something. I don’t know what he did, but our souls were returned, and the twenty-five of us struck Arthas down and brought him to an end.”

A gentle breeze swept through the lush area, as if in response to its creator’s change in mood. It felt somewhat soothing to the pair of dragons as they waited in silence. As the seconds turned to minutes—and as there was no further attempt by either of them to speak—the calm started to change to awkwardness and restlessness. Neither was sure how to proceed from here.

“My Queen, is there something else you wished to speak to me about? Or, if there is nothing left, may I be excused? I am certain that my comrades are rather… eager to ply me with questions about my deception.”

The male wyrm did not wish to be disrespectful to her; she was the Dragonqueen, after all, the Aspect of Life. To turn his back on her was not wise; the traitor Arygos had nearly incurred her wrath for his continued defiance and insolence before he had shown his true colors. Before that fateful day when Lord Korialstrasz—

He shook his head. It would not do to dwell on the past. If not for the late Consort of the Queen’s sacrifice, it was very likely that all dragons would have been twisted into Chromatic dragon monstrosities.

“There is an announcement that I plan to make to the Accord itself in some time from now. I would say a week. I will need that time to recuperate after how taxing it was to save Neltharion from the corruption of the Old Gods. During that time, I also wish to speak with him… and to see if there is anything I might do to heal the many cracks and wounds in his body.”

Varathaelstrasz looked at her blankly.

“Life-Binder, great though your powers may be, those wounds were inflicted by the Dragon Soul itself, which held the power of yourself, Malygos, Ysera, and Nozdormu. He couldn’t even bear to hold onto it for very long before it started to tear his body apart. You would need as much power as you used to free his mind, and that only came when the other Aspects assisted you.”

He stood from where had sat, and looked cautiously at her. He needed to be very cautious with his words. Compassionate she may be, but she was also not one to brook disrespect. Even with her lying upon the ground, she was still far larger than he.

“Much of your power has been spent… I can feel it, for I feel that my own strength has waned. Our flight’s power comes from our Aspect; when you weaken, so do the rest of us.”

Alexstrasza simply nodded in response to his rebuttal, clearly pleased. Though not as old as she was, or as old as her Beloved had been, he understood well the implications of what had occurred.

“You speak true. It is likely that I will not be able to heal the injuries to his body created by the Dragon Soul. Not on my own. I will need the assistance of my sister, of young Kalec, and of Nozdormu. But I must try. However, your own point about you being enfeebled is all the more reason I ask that you remain here and rest, to recover your strength. Your companions can wait, I think, for you to be better rested. I will call the rest of our flight here. We have all earned the rest.”

The red leviathan rested her head upon the grassy field again, the gentle breeze sweeping over them again. She let out a great sigh as her fatigue grew ever stronger. It was soothing, and the need to rest was increasing. Her entire body ached.

“Besides, you look as if you can barely stand yourself. I strongly suggest you give yourself time to recuperate, and I would hate to have to make it an official order.”

He winced; he’d been hoping it wasn’t that obvious, but one would be hard pressed to keep signs of fatigue hidden from arguably the most powerful healer on Azeroth. He knew she had him in a position where he had no more room to argue; it was either agree to her implied order, or be given a more overt one which he could not refuse in any case.

He inhaled, and then let out a great sigh.

“Yes, my Queen.”

He lay down on the ground, keeping somewhat away from her. He was not her consort; it was not his place to be close to her. He heard voices coming from the waygate as others of their flight came inside to join them, heeding her telepathic call to rest. The war was over: the Destroyer was no more, but now the Earth-Warder restored to lucidity; and the Hour of Twilight that her sister had foreseen in a vision had been averted. Now was the time to begin the healing process.

 

It was four days later, in the Chamber of Aspects, that the five stood together, each positioned near their respective sanctum’s waygate. Neltharion easily looked the most uncertain of them all. Each had rested within their sanctum to recover, yet while Alexstrasza, Ysera, Kalecgos, and Nozdormu had others of their flight with them, Neltharion was alone within the Obsidian Sanctum. His flight was in tatters; he more or less abandoned them in favor of the twilight dragonflight that had been forced to flee, but the war between his flight and the other four had all but destroyed the black dragonflight.

Even now he could practically feel the youngest Aspect, Kalec to his left, staring daggers at him. He could hardly blame him.

“What is thisss about, Alexstrasza?” Nozdormu asked.

The Aspect of Earth closed his eyes, that familiar lisping voice of the Bronze Aspect jogging memories of over ten thousand years ago, before his betrayal.

It was one of the last times he had spoken in friendly tones with his best friend, with Malygos. But that was a façade, for by then he had already succumbed to the whispers. And he had all but destroyed Malygos’ flight not long after. He let out a wistful sigh.

“Forgive me if this sounds impertinent, but I must echo Nozdormu’s sentiment. What is the reason for this summons?” he asked.

Alexstrasza looked to her left, first to her sister close at hand, then to Neltharion, next to Kalecgos, and finally to Nozdormu.

“I apologize for the abruptness. I am sure each of you is still recovering from the battle four days ago, but I have need of your assistance with something. Namely, I need your help with the healing of Neltharion’s wounds.”  
Kalecgos quirked a brow, puzzled by such a request.

“Are you not the greatest healer on Azeroth, Alexstrasza?”

The red wyrm looked to him and nodded. “There are things which even I cannot heal alone, as we all know from four days ago. This is in relation to that; Neltharion’s scars, the bleeding of magma and the splitting of his scales, were caused by the chaotic energies of the Dragon Soul during the War of the Ancients. The immense power in them threatened to tear him apart. He had to discard it, eventually, for fear it would destroy him. Because the Dragon Soul had the powers of we Aspects, and of all dragons in our flights save for Neltharion, the injuries it dealt are beyond my power alone to heal.

“This is why I need your help. Even so, there will still be scarring; wounds that have bled for ten thousand years will not simply be healed and leave nothing to show how deep they were.”

Kalecgos, in particular, looked concerned by this proposal. He fixed his eyes on the Life-Binder.

“What benefit is there to such an action?”

The red leviathan peered at him.

“The ability to start rebuilding his flight; several of his consorts, save for Sintharia, were killed when they attempted to mate due to the magma he currently bleeds.”

Nozdormu could not help but snort at the prospect.

“There remainsss a sssignificant barrier to your plan: the lack of female black dragonsss. There but remainsss himself, Wrathion, and Neltharion’s few living children in Outland. Sssurely you do not sssuggest inbreeding?”

Alexstrasza shook her head.

“No. But perhaps, with time as he regains trust, members of our flights might find him to be suitable.”

She ignored the blank stares of the other four.

“There is no reason to believe such a thing is not possible. Malygos forcibly made my daughter—Keristrasza—his consort during the Nexus War. She was killed before she could bear him any progeny. Chromatus posited that chromatic dragons might be able to be produced with more stability if he mated with Kirygosa. Mating outside our flights may be possible, though it may be inadvisable to combine the bloodlines of all five flights.”

Neltharion looked at her, the most surprised of all.

“The years have made you wiser."

“I was left little choice, Neltharion. However, I still have much to learn. I am not infallible by any means. I failed you and Malygos both. Furthermore, there is still the threat of the Burning Legion. They can still return at any time. Having a black dragonflight on the rise will greatly aid our fight to defend Azeroth.”

Ysera said nothing, only marveling at the soundness of her sister’s logic. Such an argument from Malygos would have been expected, but less so from Alexstrasza. She looked around to Nozdormu and to Kalecgos, and saw that they, too, seemed to see the soundness of her argument.

“Is there anything else on your mind, sister, before we help you heal Neltharion?”

“What I have to say will be made known three days from now, before the entirety of the Accord. Come, we have much work to do.”

They remembered well the ritual they had participated in with Thrall when fighting Chromatus and the twilight dragonflight. They remembered how they united their purposes, become as one, and let the boundaries of their powers fall away to become greater than they, individually, could ever hope to be. And as he looked on, and observed, the understanding filled Neltharion as well, and his own boundaries fell away. Red, green, blue, bronze, and black all blended to become a bright, white light that surrounded the five. If interwoven, all one might have to do was pull at the strings of one part for it all to come undone. They had to blend. 

This light, blinding as it was, made a beacon, one that could be seen far, far to the north of the entrance to the Chamber of Aspects. Several dragons gathered outside, shielding their eyes with their wings. They could not bear to look directly at such pure, unyielding light.

And then, in moments, it faded. All five great dragons lay prone upon the stone floor, shards of elementium littering the ground. Slowly each began to stand, first the Timeless One, followed by the Spell-Weaver. The Awakened Dreamer stood next and, after, the Life-Binder. Finally, the Earth-Warder stood, and the dragons gathered outside looked on in wonderment.

Gone were the plates of elementium fused to his body, repulsed from his body during the healing process. Smaller—much smaller—were the cracks in his hide, so fine now that they were more like scars. His body no longer glowed with fire and magma spilling from the cracks. Lastly, gone was the plate that replaced his lower jaw; once more there was flesh, sinew, and scale. Neltharion the Earth-Warder had returned, in name, mind, and now in form.

Wary, they approached him, not forgetting the last ten thousand years of war and strife that the black dragonflight had caused in his madness. Many could still remember his words to the Aspects, to Alexstrasza especially, during the last stand on the summit of the temple. They recalled that his sanity had degraded even further—to the point that he, who had long been defensive and enraged if any of his children came to harm—regarded his prime consort, his son Nefarian, and his daughter Onyxia as “nothing.” And, as if their own thoughts pierced him, they saw rivulets begin to run from his eyes as he looked down at himself.

“I am free… would that my children could say the same. Would that Sintharia could say the same…”

But as they stood, staring at this display, the Aspects turned to them, and saw that more and more dragons were gathering, drawn by the light, and by the emotions that their leaders were feeling. Dragons of various hues—azure, ruby, bronze and emerald—stood outside the Chamber of Aspects, unable to fight their curiosity.

“It would seem that I will have to make my announcement now, given that just about the entirety of the Accord is here,” Alexstrasza said.

She let out a sigh, and walked to the center of the Chamber of Aspects, looking out at the opening to the crowd of dragons gathered. She could see, near the middle of the throng, the dragon she had spoken at length to only four days ago.

“You may as well all come in, out of the cold,” she called out.

At her command they filed into the cavernous chamber, glancing to each other, and then to her and the other Aspects. Whispers surged throughout the crowd, as they had not missed the word “announcement” when she had spoken to the other Aspects. Once all were inside, she walked back to her place beside Ysera.

“I trust that it is much more comfortable for all of you, now that you are in here instead of the snowy Dragon Wastes. Now, to get to the announcement that I had planned to make in a few days, but have decided to make now, what with all of you gathered to see Neltharion’s healing…” the Dragonqueen started.

The eyes of every dragon were now fixed upon her, none more so than her fellow Aspects’.

“Reflecting on the words that were spoken here in this chamber four days ago, by my fellow Aspects and by the mortals who helped us prevent the Hour of Twilight, I have come to a decision. I am stepping away from the Wyrmrest Accord on a leave of absence for the foreseeable future.”

At this utterance, activity and voices swelled within the gathered dragons. Ysera and Kalecgos looked at her, especially stunned by this decision.

“I have spent too long sheltered from the mortals whom I must safeguard as custodian of Life. For the majority of the past ten thousand years, I have retreated from them. I am, as Varok Saurfang said, out of touch with the children of this world. And so I have decided to venture out into the world, to be among the mortals, and to try and understand them from their own perspectives.”

“But, my queen, it begs the question; who will lead the Accord in your absence?” asked a red drake; by the sound of the voice, this one was female. “Lady Ysera and Lord Nozdormu have their own duties they must attend to; they cannot watch over Wyrmrest Temple. And the Earth-Warder has his own duties, especially with there being only himself and the black whelp, Wrathion.”

A pang shot through Neltharion at this.

“Not to worry,” Alexstrasza began, smiling at the young red dragon, “I have already considered this. Remember, if you will, that the monitoring of the temple traditionally belonged to the Blue Dragonflight. With the Nexus being not far from here, Kalecgos is the one best able to keep watch. In addition, there will still be Lord Afrasastrasz to command the defense, and Tariolstrasz as steward. The Ruling Council is also still in place, with Lord Itharius, Chronormu, and Kalecgos among them, and I would place Torastrasza as my own representative on the council. She has served ably as its majordomo, after all.”

Everyone continued to stare, caught off guard by the pronouncement.

“You would go alone to these mortal demesnes?” Neltharion asked, dumbstruck. “To Teldrassil, to Darnassus for the night elves and the worgen, I see no issue. The kal’dorei have ever been friends to you. The members of the Alliance in general, such as the dwarves and gnomes of Ironforge, the humans of Stormwind, and the Draenei of the Exodar, are friendly to your flight. But why go to the orcs of the Horde? You would go to Orgrimmar, as well, with Garrosh Hellscream as the Warchief of the Horde?”

The red Aspect looked at him, her face inscrutable.

“Your concern is appreciated, Neltharion. I sense a desire to make amends for what the Old Horde was able to do with Deathwing’s help. It was only nineteen years ago that I was freed from captivity.”

The Black Aspect bowed his head in shame at the memory.

“However, I will not be leaving alone. I will be accompanied by a member of my flight, of my choosing. One who has been among mortals, and understands them better than I do as a result.”

There was a marked increase in interest and activity among the red dragons gathered. Who would she choose to guide her?

“I have already chosen, based on careful consideration of the experiences of my flight’s members. And my choice is…” the Dragonqueen began. She looked through the crowd of dragons gathered, and her eyes glowed as if she was smiling good-naturedly.

“Varathaelstrasz.”

Immediately the dragons turned, and the red wyrm in question looked at her, struck senseless.

“Me? But...why?”

“It is because you have been among these mortals and fought alongside them, both Horde and Alliance, against threats to all of life. You know the workings of these different races better than I, and so I would have you accompany me, and assist me in my journey.”

All eyes were on the two as she beckoned him forward. They watched as he bowed low.

“It would be an honor, my Queen. When do we depart?”

“In three days. To allow us time to rest, and to prepare.”

“Your will be done.”

He couldn’t help but wonder just what difficulties could, and likely would, crop up.


	3. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her pronouncement made, preparations must be made for what lies ahead. But how will her escort handle affairs ahead of time, when the leaders of the myriad races of Azeroth are as varied in temperament as they are in appearance and history?

# Life Rekindled

### Preparations

The past three days had been… different. On the first day, Varathaelstrasz had flown to the floating city of Dalaran to take a portal created by the Sunreavers to travel to Orgrimmar, where all leaders of the Horde had been gathered to celebrate the salvation of the world, and the end of Deathwing as he had been. Speaking with Warchief Hellscream, Trade Prince Gallywix, and the Banshee Queen was more difficult for him than with the others, owing to his uncertainty about Hellscream’s disposition, Gallywix’s opportunistic and treacherous nature, and Sylvanas’ willingness to use the Forsaken blight on the citizens of Gilneas when she had moved to take their lands. Lord Itharius had, in the past, voiced hope that the undead could reach salvation through Lady Windrunner, but more recent actions of hers had proven disconcerting for the red wyrm.

He remembered that he could see, hanging from the pole near the gate of the Dranosh’ar Blockade, the head of Nefarian even as he listened to the allied leaders — Regent-Lord Lor’themar Theron, leader of the blood elves of Silvermoon; High Chieftain Baine Bloodhoof, leader of the tauren of Thunder Bluff; Trade Prince Gallywix, leader of the goblins of the Bilgewater Cartel; Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, leader of the Horde and the orcs; Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, queen of the undead Forsaken; and Chieftan Vol’jin of the Darkspear trolls — discuss the planned visit that the Dragonqueen would make to their cities within the year. He noticed, out of the corner of his eyes, High Overlord Varok Saurfang look at the dragon-in-elven-guise with intrigue; with his identity revealed, the dragon had opted to show his horns in his mortal guise, just as his queen and the Dreamer did.

The orc overlord beckoned the elf over and, leaving the other leaders to discuss the preparations they were to make, the two exited Grommash Hold to walk through the city of Orgrimmar.

“So the Life-Binder is going to try and connect with the mortal races, then?” Saurfang had asked.

“Your words had a profound impact on her,” Varathaelstrasz said simply to the orc.

“Where will you two go first on this journey of yours? I presume that you will be visiting each capital for some time to interact with the people?”

The elf nodded in response.

“Darnassus first, as well as the Exodar, and then here to Orgrimmar. We will be visiting Kalimdor as the first continent, and after visiting Mulgore and Theramore we will have Jaina bring us to Dalaran, where we can take a portal from the Sunreavers to Silvermoon. From there we will go to the Undercity, and then to Ironforge, and finally Stormwind. We believe it best to visit all of the races, Alliance and Horde, to better understand the perspectives of the varied races. This is one world that we all share… and petty squabbling will not help us.”

“Best not let Garrosh hear that kind of talk…” Saurfang said darkly.

“I know. I just hope that things go better. A word of advice for the Warchief, though; he may wish to curry good favor with Neltharion by returning Nefarian's head to him. As a father with a deceased son, I believe you understand that the Earth-Warder will want to put him to rest.”

He noticed Saurfang’s face fall heavy at the thought of his son, and felt a pang of sympathy.

“Though I’m afraid I must be off. I need to visit Silvermoon for something for my queen, and then I must travel to Stormwind to inform the leaders of the Alliance,” Varathaelstrasz said.

“Aka’magosh,” the old orc answered. He watched as the dragon made his way towards the Cleft of Shadows, presumably to make use of the portal to Dalaran there. From there, getting to Silvermoon by another portal would be easier than waiting for a zeppelin if he truly needed to get to Silvermoon with all haste.

 

Visiting Rhonin and his wife Vereesa at the Violet Citadel in Dalaran was always a pleasure, though he noted that the Kirin Tor leader had been of a more somber disposition since the passing of his master. Krasus’ loss was felt keenly by many, particularly the red-haired human, his high elf wife, and the red dragonflight.

His visit with them, however, was shorter as he had a schedule to keep. Directed to the Sunreavers’ Sanctum, it was a trifling matter for one of the sin’dorei mages there to create a portal to the Inner Sanctum of the Sunfury Spire, the royal palace of the ancient Kingdom of Quel’thalas. As the dragon strode through the halls and out into the city of Silvermoon proper, he could not help but make note of its state; much work had been done to repair the city, but the western half of it still remained in ruins, the land scarred by Arthas’ march through Quel’thalas to the Isle of Quel’danas only nine years ago.

As he made his way through the bazaar, he swiveled his head back and forth, taking in the wares as he often did when he came to Silvermoon in his time masquerading as one of their own. The sin’dorei within looked at him with surprise upon noticing the horns protruding from his head. For so long they had counted him as one of their own, yet here he was, a dragon in their skin all this time. At last he came up to Keelen in the northwestern corner of the bazaar, and approached.

“Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” the brown-haired man asked.

“I’m looking for a gown for someone,” he answered.

“It might help if I knew more about this someone, so I can determine what might be appropriate for her,” Keelen replied.

“The Life-Binder,” Varathaelstrasz said simply.

“Oh!” he exclaimed.

He shuffled about on his feet; providing something for the Dragonqueen would certainly be a windfall; one as esteemed as her would provide a considerable clamor for his wares if people knew just who provided clothing for her. At the same time, however, he did not want to offend with something that Alexstrasza would not be fond of; dragons did not take well to offense, not even one as patient as the Aspect of Life.

“I’m sure I have something that will prove perfect for her. Although… it would be easier if she was here for the sake of measurements.”

“I could summon her, if you wish, though I had been hoping it could be a surprise. I could also give an estimate of her measurements as well, in comparison to what I know.”

The blood elf looked at him with understanding.

“Let’s go with the second option, then. And with the assistance of my magic and… associates, I’m quite certain I can create something that will suit her in short order.”

As soon as the dragon gave the measurements, and the Life-Binder’s preferred colors of red and gold, the tailor went right to work. He stepped into the lower part of his shop, and asked the dragon to wait a while. He explained that while something like this would take a considerable amount of time ordinarily, he would use all his resources to get it done forthwith. Despite the dragon informing him that he was in no rush, the tailor _insisted_.

 

He traveled to the human kingdom of Stormwind that same day to speak with the leaders of the Alliance; King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind; Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore; Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage and his wife, High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind of Darnassus; Prophet Velen of the Exodar; High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque, Queen Moira Thaurissan, High Thane Falstad Wildhammer, and Thane Muradin Bronzebeard, all four from Ironforge; and King Genn Greymane of the fallen kingdom of Gilneas. The leaders there were all more receptive, largely, to his presence and to the news that the Life-Binder would be meeting with the leaders of the mortal races. Though some expressed concern that the pair were to visit the largely Horde-controlled continent of Kalimdor, they were were placated upon receiving the news that Darnassus and the Exodar would be the first locales visited.

When his business was finished, he returned north, and spent the next two days in Silvermoon, speaking animatedly with the Regent Lord, Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing, and Grand Magister Rommath at length about the planned itinerary of the Dragonqueen’s global tour. He remembered Lor’themar stating, half-jokingly, that he needed to work on being able to recognize dragons more easily, as this was a second and far longer-running instance of a failure on his part to do so. The red dragon didn’t have it in him to inform the Regent Lord that identifying dragons was something considerably easier to achieve for the kaldorei.

“I’m still rather surprised to find that one of our most stalwart champions has been a member of the red dragonflight all this time,” Rommath said.

“That said, it will be the first time that the Life-Binder will be in our fair city for some time,” Halduron said. “Not since she bequeathed Quel’Delar to our people.”

“I will be sure to send advance notice of when we are leaving the previous city and will move on to the next,” Varathaelstrasz said.

With the meeting adjourned he returned to the inn to await the completion of his order from Keelen Sheets. The wait over the next couple of days was difficult; he was on his own at the inn, with none of his comrades or flight to accompany him. The people of Silvermoon treated him differently than they had in the past, with a reverence that made him uncomfortable. The prostration of mortals was not something he was ever comfortable with; he always hated to stand on such ceremony.

He remembered his thoughts turning to his Queen, and of how she similarly had tried so fervently to discourage worship of her as any sort of deity, to little avail. It was… different. He had received praise from the sin’dorei in the past, for representing the best of them, as they said in his fights against such dire threats as a maddened, treacherous Kael’thas Sunstrider, his demonic master Kil’jaeden the Deceiver, the Lich King, and myriad other threats. Never before, however, had he received adulation simply for being what he was born as; it was such an alien concept to him, to be praised for one’s state of being rather than one’s accomplishments.

 

When at last his order was complete, the dragon rendered payment to the master tailor for his services, in spite of the protestations of Keelen. He counted it a matter of principle to always pay for services rendered, and hated the very notion of receiving anything for nothing. The blood elf was surprised, but did nothing to try and gainsay the dragon.

With business concluded, the dragon carefully placed the wrapped parcel in his bag, removed a small grey stone with a blue rune inscribed into it, and began to channel magic through it. In a flash of light he was gone…

 

And then he was far, far to the north and west, back within Dragonblight, and just outside the Wyrmrest Temple. He let out a soft huff and started to make the walk down the cracked road leading to the lowest level of the temple, into the Chamber of the Aspects. It was time to meet with his Queen, and then to leave almost immediately afterward on their journey.

There he found Ysera off to the side with Kalecgos, Nozdormu, and Neltharion, and all four seemed to be talking amongst themselves. Whatever it was that they were discussing, they had their voices lowered to avoid being overheard, and that was reason enough for him to simply turn left and walk towards the waygate into his flight’s sanctum.

His arrival, however, had not gone unnoticed by the other Aspects, and Ysera cleared her throat to get the others’ attention once the red dragon had vanished through the gate.

“The development you have told us about is… troubling, Ysera,” Kalecgos said.

“That the Life-Binder has, of late, rarely been able to be visited by you in the Emerald Dream is troubling enough, but on the occasions you have been able to visit her, her sleep has been restless and wracked by nightmares is very much a cause for concern,” the black Aspect added.

Ysera closed her eyes and nodded sadly.

“Even with the Nightmare Lord vanquished by Malfurion, the Emerald Nightmare is still a threat, even if not as great as it once was. I lost three of my lieutenants to it, and my beloved Eranikus. Though not a green dragon herself, as Aspect of Life, my sister still has a strong tie to nature,” she explained. “I am worried about how the Nightmare might try and use that connection she has to turn her, as well. I cannot bear the thought of losing another to the Old Gods’ depravity.”

“How long hasss thisss been happening, Ysera?” Nozdormu asked.

“Since the losses of her son Caelestrasz, and her beloved Korialstrasz.”

The Earth-Warder lowered his head; losses that his own actions, and those of his consort and the Twilight’s Hammer cult when he directed them, were unbalancing the Dragonqueen.

 _One more thing I must answer for_ , he thought.

Nozdormu looked wistfully to the Ruby Sanctum, lost in thought. Kalecgos noted the change in the Timeless One's attention, and studied his face carefully. Try as he might, however, he could not glean Nozdormu's thoughts.

“Is something the matter, Nozdormu?” he asked.

"Just sssomething I wasss thinking of. With Murozond destroyed, time ssshould flow normally again, without the infinite dragonflight interfering. Hopefully, at any rate. If all proceeds from here asss it ssshould, Alexstrasza will have her ssshare of fortune and pain in the yearsss to come..." he said cryptically.

“Such is the fate of all who live, though. No being is blessed with a solely auspicious life, nor cursed with a solely ill-fated one,” Kalecgos said.

“With luck, this journey of Alexstrasza’s will begin that healing process for her,” Neltharion said.

“And it is good that she has company for it,” Ysera added.

 

Varathaelstrasz breathed in deeply of the air within the sanctum. It was always a pleasant feeling, to be back into this separate dimension. It was home, and so wonderfully different from the bitter cold of Northrend. In the center of the field was the Life-Binder, looking at him patiently.

“It is good you are back, Varathaelstrasz. I trust you have been able to do all you set out to do in the past three days?” she asked.

“Yes, my Queen. Before we depart, however, I have something for you. It is something from the tailors in Silvermoon City.”

She raised a brow quizzically at him.

“Is there something wrong with what I usually wear in mortal guise?” she asked.

“It’s… well, we are meeting the leaders of the mortal races. It may be best to be more… modest in how we dress when meeting with them. They can be quite finicky about decorum.”

“I believe Sylvanas Windrunner dresses similarly.”

“I… the Dark Lady is not exactly who I would use as an example when dressing for diplomacy, my Queen,” he said carefully. He looked at Alexstrasza, and noted that she looked thoughtful, rather than offended by his opinion. “There’s a saying among mortals: dress to impress. And this would certainly leave a lasting impression, as it is something different from what you have been seen in so far.”

He held out the wrapped package to her once he returned to his smaller mortal form, and smiled warmly at her. She noted the change in his attire as well; gone was the plate armor that he had been wearing whenever she had seen him in mortal form, replaced with a set of flowing, refined looking robes in reds and golds. He looked every bit the dignitary.

“I see the wisdom in your counsel. Very well. Thank you, Varathaelstrasz. I will change into these and we can depart.”

He wasted no time in turning away from the Dragonqueen and walking some distance to give her privacy. She thought it amusing; in his time with mortals, it would seem he had picked up on some of their idiosyncrasies. She didn’t particularly see much need in averting one’s gaze from a bare form, because dragons tended to have no need for such practices; dragons wore nothing in their true form with some exception of baubles or trinkets or jewelry. Still, perhaps following his lead when dealing with mortals would be a good idea.

When she unwrapped the package, she looked at the fabric inside with a broad smile on her face, and noticed a pair of shoes that accompanied it.

“This is really quite lovely, the tailor you went to has a fine eye for detail.”

She quickly changed into the dress, the usual clothing she wore placed safely onto the ground. When she was finished, she looked to her champion, and placed her hands at his side.

“You can turn and face me, Varathaelstrasz. I’ve finished changing.”

He turned to face her, as she had demanded, and couldn’t help but look on in wonderment; the dress fit her form so well. It was long and flowing, the left leg showing more with the bottom half being asymmetrically cut. The dress was made of a fine, crimson silk with gold embroidery along the bottom edge. It was shoulderless, but the dress came with a pair of long arm warmers, a single loop around the middle finger of both hands. The shoes that it had come with were open toed, gold, and had bands that wound around her legs up to the knees.

“I take it you approve? But how will the leaders of the mortal races view it?”

“They will have no objections, my Queen.”

She smiled at the compliment, and walked toward the waygate.

“Let’s be off, then. We have a long flight ahead of us to Teldrassil. It will be lovely to see it again; I do hope that it is growing well and strong after the blessings my sister and I put on it at Malfurion and Tyrande’s wedding.”

Before he could say anything she walked through, and he followed after her once he put her usual clothing within his bag for safe keeping. Immodest as it was to mortal tastes, the plating on it did offer more protection than her new dress, and he would be remiss not to take it with them.

 

The other Aspects, still in the Chamber talking amongst themselves, turned their attention to the gate once they saw Alexstrasza enter from her sanctum, and they could not help but notice the change in garb. When she and Varathaelstrasz returned to their true forms and flew out of the cavernous room, and then turned to fly due south, Ysera was the first to speak.

“For as much as the kaldorei hold the sin’dorei in contempt, one cannot deny that the blood elves have an excellent aesthetic sense.”

The others simply chuckled in response to her statement.


	4. New Beginnings

# Life Rekindled

### New Beginnings

Alexstrasza looked over her left shoulder at the male wyrm flying behind and off to her side. The difference in their sizes was made even more apparent as they flew; with her larger wingspan and stronger body, she could easily fly faster and longer than he could. Even if he had greater maneuverability due to his smaller size, she was not keen on the idea of making such a flight without any sort of conversation. There was much for them to talk about on their way to Darnassus. She slowed down the beating of her wings, put less force into the movements of them, and soon enough Varathaelstrasz was now flying right next to her, head in line with hers.

“My Queen?” he asked, puzzled.

“It would be boring if we did not at least talk during this journey. I would make for a poor traveling companion if I didn’t strike up conversation.”

Varathaelstrasz was at a loss for words.

“Given that I’m very familiar with kaldorei culture already, I don’t believe there is much you will have to tell me about them in preparation for our stay in Darnassus for a fortnight. I was there with them, after all, when the War of the Ancients ended and planted Nordrassil. My sister has kept me apprised of their culture, in my dreams, ever since I was freed from the Dragonmaw orcs. Much has changed for them since Nordrassil was sacrificed to stop Archimonde eight years ago.”

The male looked at her.

“Yes. Many have had to make due with the loss of immortality that came with Nordrassil’s destruction.”

Alexstrasza nodded solemnly.

“It’s why Teldrassil was planted by Fandral Staghelm, in a misguided and arrogant attempt to regain their immortality. He believed that he could do what only Nozdormu or Aman’thul were capable of. It was for that reason that we refused to bless Teldrassil; Ysera and I only gave our blessings just a little more than a year ago,” she said.

She turned her gaze to him, continuing on their course southwest towards Kalimdor. Her fiery, glowing eyes peered intensely at him; it almost felt like she was trying to look into his very soul.

“But instead of retreading what you and I both already know, there are other things I would like to know. Tell me about those you have fought alongside. I imagine no small number of them were surprised to learn you were not, in fact, what they believed you to be.”

Varathaelstrasz flinched. She was proving to be eerily adept at understanding how and what he thought.

 _One would think that she is a green dragon instead…_ he thought.

He sighed softly and shook his head.

“Most were surprised. Some started to figure out what I was after an… explosive reaction in Grim Batol protecting your eggs from the C’Thrax trying to corrupt them into twilight dragons. Several were angry, hurt that I seemed not to trust them with who I really was.”

“Any in particular who stand out the most?”

“Master Gilbert Thorne, Master Vynsin, Lady Reveran, Sir Garinthal, Sir Gentonah, Lady Navera Fuerbrand, and Lady Naveriss,” he answered.

Alexstrasza noted a slight change in inflection of his voice when he uttered the last name in the list.

“Master Thorne is a respected worgen priest, even if he does have the tendency to be very morose. Master Vynsin is a sin’dorei warlock, dedicated to studying demons that he might find out how best to combat them when the Legion inevitably comes for us again. Lady Reveran was… she was a night elf who fell in battle before the Third War, and was raised by Arthas to be one of his Death Knights at Acherus. Garinthal and Gentonah are formidable human warriors. Navera is a talented and driven worgen druid, and Naveriss is a draenei hunter with a sharp eye, and a keen marksman.”

The Dragonqueen gave extra scrutiny to the expression on the male wyrm’s face. There was a warmth in his voice when he spoke of the draenei, a fondness. She expected she knew why, but did not want to assume without certainty, nor did she want to ask after it. He was no less entitled to privacy than she or any being was.

“I see, thank you. Do you expect we will see any of them on this journey?”

“Navera and Naveriss will in all likelihood be at Darnassus. Navera tends to go there after the kaldorei offered the displaced Gilneans sanctuary after the Horde invaded their kingdom. Additionally, it is an opportunity to learn more of druidism from Malfurion, and who better a teacher than the first mortal druid, other than perhaps Cenarius or Lady Ysera? Naveriss frequents Darnassus, as well as Darkshore, and Feathermoon Stronghold in Feralas to practice her marksmanship with the Sentinel rangers.”  
He closed his eyes in thought as he tried to think of where the others would likely be.

“Master Vynsin will undoubtedly be in Silvermoon City, as it is his home. Lady Reveran could be in any number of places; Acherus up in Icecrown, Darnassus as she may want to reconnect with her people, or Mount Hyjal as she finds peace there. Master Thorne will likely be in either Darnassus for similar reasons to Lady Navera, or in Stormwind trying to help restore the reputation of the Church of the Light after the… betrayal of Archbishop Benedictus, even if Bishop Farthing sees fit to deny the truth. Garinthal will probably be in Stormwind, as will Gentonah.”

Alexstrasza seemed content with his answer, and the topic of discussion soon changed from his comrades to expectations of what the future may hold, now that the Hour of Twilight had been stopped and Deathwing was no more.

“Pardon my supposition, my Queen, but I do not think the Old Gods will stop their plans to return. I do not think the Hour of Twilight has been definitively stopped, just… forestalled. We only know of one that is conclusively dead, and the other three known are likely just… dormant. I don’t believe that mortals killed C’Thun in Ahn’Qiraj, nor do I believe we killed Yogg-Saron in Ulduar. Then there was the one that the generals assaulting our tower named… N’Zoth, who seemed to be the one mostly responsible for Lord Neltharion’s corruption into Deathwing, and the greater power he had than ever before. As for any others… I don’t know how many there are, but we can’t let our guard down. They have lost their Harbinger, but they have not been totally vanquished.”

“Perhaps… but I believe, for the time being at least, that we can at least relax somewhat and enjoy the time of peace. We do not have to worry about a ten thousand year long war with the black dragonflight anymore, and we have brought a measure of peace to Azeroth. We have earned the right to enjoy peace as we once did before the Sundering,” Alexstrasza said.

“Not if Garrosh Hellscream has anything to say about it…” he muttered.

They flew onward to the southwest, towards the large World Tree off the northwestern coast of Kalimdor.

 

In Northrend, Neltharion exited the Chamber of the Aspects, and made his way to the southwest. It was not his own flight’s burial grounds he went to, but instead to the flight that he had wronged more than any other. A massive pillar of arcane energy rose from the center of the Azure Dragonshrine, ley lines running through the ground in and around the crater.

The black wyrm looked around the sacred ground, round platforms hovering in the air, suffused with arcane energy. It was not unlike the blue dragonflight's home of Coldarra in the Borean Tundra. All the dragonshrines were modeled after locations their respective flights felt comfortable in. It made dying easier on those who came here, allowed them to feel safe and at home.

To the west he could see a line of surge needles, long since unused and bereft of power, and he shook his head with a sigh. He immediately understood what their use was when they had been set up, and closed his emerald eyes.

“Forgive me… such a thing would not have come to pass if I had been stronger.”

“No.”

Neltharion turned his head at the sound of the voice, and found young Kalec, in his preferred mortal guise, approaching from the direction of the temple.

“Lord Malygos had regained sanity after absorbing nether dragons that had boasted that they were the Nexus. As the Lord of Magic, magic was his dominion and he could absorb arcane energy easily, and without any detriment to his sanity. His actions were his own, as were those of my flight who had followed him in his war against all mortal races.”

“But—”

“Neltharion,” Kalec started, his voice growing firm. “You drove Malygos to insanity to begin with, that is incontrovertible fact. However, he was his own being and made his choices of his own recognizance. It is he who must be held to account for the actions he took, just as is the case with any and all beings with free will. It is why I cannot absolve you of any blame for your actions as Deathwing. You were corrupted and insane, but still making choices.”

“I know. And I apologize if my presence here offends you and yours. I… had to see for myself what I had wrought, that I may have another reminder of what I did as I work to atone.” Neltharion’s voice was colored with remorse, and he looked cautiously at the Blue Aspect.

“I take no offense, but I cannot speak for others of my flight. They may think and feel differently, as is their right. So long as you are respectful of the dead, and of the wishes and feelings of any of my flight who may come here to mourn, then I will tolerate your presence here. If they wish you to leave, however, then I must ask that you leave,” Kalecgos answered.

The Black Aspect looked at Kalecgos with considerable scrutiny. He could see the uncertainty in Kalecgos in spite of the firm, strong façade he was putting up.

“You needn’t worry, I will do as you ask, from one Aspect to another. You also don’t need to worry about proving yourself to we Aspects. We already consider you our equal, by virtue of your dedication to this world and your flight, as well as its purpose. If you are ever uncertain, however, seek me out. Though I am not Malygos, with how close we were… I still know much of his past duties that I could help you with.”

The younger wyrm looked at the older, unable to mask his confusion from Neltharion.

“I… Thank you, Earth Warder. I will keep this in mind.”

With nothing more to say, he departed, and Neltharion was once more left alone. Alone… how he hated that more than anything else. His flight was in tatters, the other flights were reeling from the toll that the ten thousand year long war has taken on them, and the other Aspects busied themselves with their own affairs once more. Nozdormu had already retreated to the timeways, working to keep the infinite dragonflight from interfering any further; Ysera had already shifted from this plane to her domain of the Emerald Dream to protect it from the encroaching Nightmare; and Kalecgos had to travel to other parts of the world to try and bring his own flight back together. There were still some, like Azuregos, who were voices of dissent in the flight against Kalecgos’ leadership, some who had voted in favor of the traitor Arygos during the Embrace.

And then there was his own flight, or rather whatever pieces were left. His erstwhile grandson had been busy ensuring that his maddened flight was put to the sword. Wrathion, no doubt, would rather see him dead than anything. There was Sabellian, still in Outland, as far as he knew. But if he was still alive even after all these past twenty-one years, there would be no love left between them. He had abandoned those who had gone with him to Outland and not been killed by the gronn, returned to Azeroth to see to the fruits of his labors to have the Dragon Soul recovered by the Dragonmaw clan.

He was alone. No consorts, no children left on Azeroth, no broodmothers with which to revive his flight...

Without realizing it he, in his musings, had made his way northward, past the Ruby Dragonshrine, to the Obsidian Dragonshrine where lay the bones of his flight. He knew he would not find Sintharia’s remains here. She had been reduced to nothing beneath Grim Batol, consumed by the lava beneath the abandoned mountain fortress. Dragons, including the Aspects, were not immune to the forces they held control over, as Ysera herself came to learn from the vision she shared of the Hour of Twilight only months ago.

The black wyrm noticed the presence of the undead Scourge within his flight’s sanctum and in the land just out of the cavern, along with members of the Cult of the Damned. With a growl, he advanced on the mindless undead slaves of the Lich King, and the unwise mortals who made up the cult’s members.

“You will _not_ defile my flight’s sacred ground!” he bellowed.

What followed was nothing less than a massacre; the cultists and the undead had little to no chance of overcoming the enraged Aspect of Earth. Desperate cries came out, unheeded by the Earth Warder, from the cultists as they were torn to pieces in his wrath. When all intruders had been destroyed, their remains hurled into the lava within the cavern, the black wyrm went out into the clearing at the entrance, lay down, and wept. The bones of the dead here were of those who had not yet been taken by madness, and those who were. Yet all were his flight, his kin. All were gone. All were equal in death.

 

The journey from Northrend to the island just off the northern coast of Kalimdor took a couple of hours, even with the two dragons flying without stop. The pair had to ascend as they approached the great tree, larger even than Nordrassil had been, but once high enough to look down into the great city of Darnassus, they began a gradual descent. They could hear below them several kaldorei and worgen talk excitedly about the sight of the Aspect of Life coming to their home once more. Alexstrasza was the first to land safely away from others in the Temple Gardens, and swiftly changed to her mortal guise.

She could hear murmurs among the crowd of mortals as they noticed the gown she wore, and turned to look at Varathaelstrasz as he alit upon the ground beside her. He wasted no time in shifting to his own mortal form, and night elves who had been at Wyrmrest Temple on the day that the Hour of Twilight had been averted noted his own change from the armor he was typically seen wearing. The robes were stately and flowing, yet the bag he carried with him did not go unnoticed. Even if he was dressed for diplomacy, they recognized his prudence in carrying his armor within it. Even if the Children of the Stars bore the Life-Binder no ill will, there was no guarantee that the other races would hold that same reverence for her.

Both bowed graciously to the night elves who greeted them, and walked with night elf guides to the Temple of the Moon to the south.  The dragon-elves entered the large structure; for the Dragonqueen it was her second time within the sacred temple to their moon goddess, but for Varathaelstrasz it was his first visit. The temple was a marvel of architecture, and a testament to the skill of kaldorei stonemasons even after ten thousand years of communing with nature and predominantly living in natural abodes.  
The moonwell in the center of the temple’s ground floor, and its statue of Haidene, the first High Priestess of Elune, caught the dragons’ attention first. It was always a significant sight, even if the dragons didn’t have the same worship of the moon deity held in reverence by the Sisterhood of Elune. They went up the ramp on the southern end of the temple, made their way around the walkway along the walls of the upper level and found both Tyrande and Malfurion.

The Archdruid and High Priestess bowed reverentially to the Aspect of Life, and she bowed in greeting to them.

“It is good to see you again, Life-Binder. The world owes you a great debt,” Tyrande said.

“You are kind, but it was all of Azeroth who helped in the fight against the Old Gods’ forces that saved us all in the end, both mortal and dragon.”

“I see that one of the Horde’s champions is, in fact, one of your flight. An interesting choice,” Malfurion said.

“It was his idea, in truth. He believed it would be prudent to have members of our flight blend with all societies, to better keep an eye on mortals. Given the state of the world, it was certainly a wise suggestion; only having the perspective of the races belonging to the Alliance would make our intelligence… incomplete.”

Tyrande’s eyes looked over the Life-Binder, lips pursing tightly at the sight of the gown. It was more modest than what the Dragonqueen typically wore, however the style and design of it was unmistakable.

“I see you’ve had a gown made by the sin’dorei,” she said coolly.

Varathaelstrasz could hear the faint displeasure in her voice, as well as the unamused expression that flickered across her countenance, and grimaced.

“Yes. The color was something that matched her typical attire, and the sin’dorei are known for favoring designs in that scheme,” he said cautiously.

Tyrande's face softened at his words. She had found that the red dragons tended to speak truth in the past, and his reply assured her that going to the sin'dorei for the dress was not meant as a slight towards her or her people.

"I see. Well, if it is not an issue with the Life-Binder, there are some questions that I would ask you."

They turned their attention to Alexstrasza, and found the elven woman talking at length with Malfurion about Teldrassil's growth. Her red tresses, crowned by her large black horns, stood out from any night elf, man or woman.

"It would seem not to be an issue with my Queen."

The High Priestess of Elune beckoned, and the Dragonqueen’s escort followed on her heels, leaving the Archdruid to speak with Alexstrasza herself.

“It is good to see, and feel, the corruption of the Old Gods has left this tree entirely. It will be protected from their influence in the future by my blessing, and my sister’s,” Alexstrasza said.

“And for my people’s immortality? Many are still reeling from the effects of the loss of it from eight years ago,” Malfurion asked.

Alexstrasza paused. While she knew that Teldrassil’s planting and growth were not Malfurion’s doing—nor were any of the great trees planted around the world—they had still been symptomatic of an arrogance that, while not identical to the Highborne and Azshara, was similar in magnitude.

“Time is Nozdormu’s demesne, not mine. I also cannot force him to do so.”

Malfurion nodded in understanding. Alexstrasza found herself thankful that he was, at the very least, humble to understand this fact where before him, Fandral Staghelm had sought to bring about the return of the kaldorei’s sacrificed immortality on his own.

“Perhaps we are better off without it. I won’t lie, I am feeling some fatigue in my bones as time is beginning to march again, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I owe you and the Emerald Queen a debt of gratitude for your blessings upon Teldrassil, and for officiating mine and Tyrande’s wedding.”

Alexstrasza smiled, and the warmth of it made Malfurion feel soothed from the sight alone.

“It was my pleasure. It was a beautiful wedding.”

He stepped closer to her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and tilted his head downward to look at the shorter elf.

“But how about yourself? How do you fare, in light of what happened not long ago at Wyrmrest Temple? I hope that this journey of yours will allow time and room for healing for you, Queen of Life.”

Alexstrasza looked at him, shoulders sagging with both fatigue and sadness.

“I am tired, Malfurion. I am so very tired. My vigil has ended, yet I feel little joy, for I have lost much in the journey. I have no consorts remaining, few children if any have survived… I find that my only family left are my sister and niece.”

Malfurion’s face softened and he placed his other hand on her other shoulder consolingly.

“I can’t give you any ‘words of wisdom’ for this situation, because I have never suffered as you have. But I do hope that you will find happiness, whatever form that may come in. Perhaps it is closer at hand than even you realize. Or perhaps not.”

Their words did not go unheard; both Tyrande and Varathaelstrasz turned from where they were to look at the duo.

“Which reminds me of what I was about to ask next,” Tyrande started, “what prompted Alexstrasza to take this journey? It is not that she is unwelcome, only surprising.”

“High Overlord Saurfang’s words following the battle at Wyrmrest Temple,” Varathaelstrasz began. “They made it clear, in her own opinion, that despite her purpose, she was not as familiar with mortals as she perhaps should be.”

Tyrande paused.

“A bold thing of him to say. The kaldorei would make no such claim; she and the Dreamer both understand our culture well. They have helped us to shape it, even if indirectly.”

“But not all races have the same bond that yours has with dragons. Our relationship with the sin’dorei, for instance, is… tenuous,” he answered her delicately. He noted her raising a brow quizzically. “It was something that Lord Korialstrasz mentioned to Queen Alexstrasza. During her captivity when he, as Krasus on the Council of Six, broached the relationship that elves once had with my people, that we were allies once, Prince Kael’thas was very... dismissive.”

Tyrande watched him, and saw the elf’s body shake as his anger crescendoed. 

“He said, and I will never forget these words when Lord Korialtrasz repeated them, nor could he: ‘Tales only. We would never ally ourselves with those beasts’.”

The High Priestess shook her head.

“The prideful are ever content to ignore history. They are often lost in their own worlds, their own heads, and their words are only ever useful to keep track of their weaknesses and plans, and never as a reflection of reality.”

The night elf woman studied his face carefully. There was pain etched into his soul; she could see it in his eyes. The dragon was younger than she was, but heartache had rooted itself in his being, reflective of some unknown hardship. She felt a great sorrow. The dragons had long been held by the kaldorei with reverence, and had long protected this world at the urging of the ancient Titans. With such a long vigil there invariably came loss beyond measure, especially in the wake of that fateful conflict that split the world from one great continent into the three largest that existed, the islands that dotted the seas, and the massive eddy in the middle of the world: the Maelstrom, the site of the original Well of Eternity.

“I presume that it was this… forgetfulness of the quel'dorei and sin'dorei of their history with your people that led you to take on their guise, to watch over the sin'dorei?”

“Yes, Lady Tyrande. It is also why I turned to them for the gown, to work on rebuilding relations. They are proud, and I believe they might be more open to speaking with my Queen if they saw her in the work of one of their artisans. We have a decidedly better relationship with the races of the Alliance than the Horde.”

Tyrande smirked, satisfied with his answer.

“Very shrewd. Appealing to their vanity with flattery. You play the political game well.”

“Solely out of necessity,” the dragon answered.

“Alexstrasza and your kind will have need of that political savvy of yours in the times to come. Korialstrasz’s loss is… regrettable, for he did much to aid my people, and mortals in general. This temple and the moonwells around Darkshore are places where you might find tranquility for reflection and healing. I cannot promise that you will have such… peace in Ashenvale, not with the conflict between my people and Garrosh’s Horde,” Tyrande said. Her voice was filled with a venom that one could not possibly miss as she uttered the Warchief’s name.

“So long as you and the Life-Binder are guests here, you will be tended to dutifully by my people. I promise you this. And if you are ever in need of a sympathetic ear, Elune hears all prayers, even if she does not answer them in obvious ways. I will also listen.”  
Varathaelstrasz smiled softly.

“Malfurion is lucky to have you in his life.”

The kaldorei woman could not help but smirk.

“I know this, as does he. And I am lucky to have him for a mate.”

She noticed a change as a frown darkened his face at the last word she said. It lingered for less than a second, and most would brush it off, reasoning that they had only seen things.but not her; her long life had honed her senses, and she knew all too well the danger of not being observant of changes in a person's demeanor. Realization dawned upon her in an instant. There was pain in his eyes for that instant.

_To have loved and lost is a pain his kind knows too keenly, just like any other race. Dragons are not so different from we mortals._

“Come, Varathaelstrasz, let us rejoin my heart and Alexstrasza. We will show you two where you will have the most room and comfort for your stay.”

The duo returned to the Archdruid and the Queen of the Dragons, to find both smiling. Alexstrasza noted the neutral expression on the paladin’s face, different from the jovial smile he had arrived with, but thought little of it. With how long they had been flying, she chalked it up to fatigue, owing to his lower reserves of stamina.

The four elves began to walk alongside each other, Malfurion and Tyrande in the front, with Alexstrasza and Varathaelstrasz following close behind. It had been some time since the Dragonqueen had been to this city, and for the male wyrm, it was his first visit owing to his typical identity as a ‘Champion of the Horde’. They were more than happy to let the two rulers of the kaldorei lead the way.

As they made their way toward an inn, two individuals approached the four, and bowed politely. Both were female but of decidedly different races; one, the taller of the two, was lupine in appearance with dark fur and dressed in a black dress; the other was a draenei, with silvery mail armor, and bluish-green skin.

“Ah, it is good to see you Navera,” Malfurion said to the worgen. “And it is good to see you as well, Naveriss. What brings you here?” Malfurion asked.

“We wished to greet the Life-Binder and our comrade,” Navera, answered.

“Yes, we have several questions for Varathaelstrasz in particular,” Naveriss added.

Varathaelstrasz tugged at the collar of his robe nervously. He had expected this would come to be at some point, he had just hoped that it would not be so soon.

“O-Of course… but would you mind waiting until after my Queen and I are able to rest a bit, first? We had a long flight here from Northrend.”

Naveriss smiled at the male.

“Certainly, we’ll wait as long as you need.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the tone of her voice. Titans have mercy, for this was not going to be the end of it.


	5. First Strides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding herself approached by two of her traveling companion's own adventuring comrades, the Life-Binder wonders about why she came to this city high up in the boughs of a World Tree. Deciding that she would be ill-served by only speaking and listening to the leaders, a decision is made to converse with regular civilians, to better learn how they live their lives, and understand their struggles, both those they share with the leadership of their nation, and those that are more personal and individualized.

# Life Rekindled

### First Strides

Alexstrasza smiled good-naturedly at the worgen and draenei who had come to greet her and her companion. She remembered both of them; they were detailed in the report that had come from her agents at Grim Batol that they had been among Varathaelstrasz’s companions in their foray to protect her eggs that remained in that accursed place from the C’thrax attempting to turn them into twilight dragons. They were also among those who had fought through time to retrieve the Dragon Soul from its place in history at the War of the Ancients, struck down the lord of the infinite dragonflight, Murozond, and rooted out the traitor Archbishop Benedictus, who had been flipped by the cruel Cho’Gall some unknown time ago to become the Twilight Father.

She studied the draenei carefully, and flicked her eyes back and forth between her and Varathaelstrasz as they spoke to each other. The body language of the two as they spoke and looked at each other told her far more of a story than the words between them did. It reminded her of herself and her beloved Korialstrasz. She smiled furtively, and turned her attention squarely onto the male dragon.

"I'm feeling well enough, Varathaelstrasz. The flight didn't terribly fatigue me. If you need to rest, I am certain Malfurion and Tyrande will be able to find me to show me to my chambers, unless you find me first after your own rest."

The male sin'dorei blinked, and looked at the Archdruid and High Priestess. They looked back to him, and guided him into the inn to set up where he would be staying; the pair were given separate rooms. Alexstrasza remained behind with the two women, and smiled softly.

“Thank you for looking after him. My beloved Korialstrasz was right to put his faith in mortals, and I am thankful for all the support and strides you have made to protect this world. It has made the task of my people easier, especially in the wake of our reduced numbers.”

The worgen bowed respectfully.

“It was an honor to help. Azeroth is our home; we couldn’t just stand by and let it fall to ruin,” Navera answered.

“Then there is something I would like to do. As you may have guessed, I am trying to learn more about the mortals, to better understand them, their struggles, and how we can better connect with one another. I would very much like to hear about your experiences in my champion’s company.”

The Dragonqueen looked to Naveriss. By draenei standards she was young, but she too was older than most mortal beings. She walked towards the draenei, and stopped in front of her, tilting her head up to look at the taller woman.

“I am especially thankful to you for looking after Varathaelstrasz. I can tell you two are quite close.”

Naveriss looked taken aback at her. “I… hope you are not offended, Life-Binder.”

“What reason would I have to be offended? Love is a wonderful thing. It gives us strength and hope in the darkest of times. It gives us something to fight for and strive for. But like anything, it can be turned to dark purposes. I just want you two to be careful, and to protect each other.”

The draenei woman relaxed at her words, and bowed graciously.

“Now, with him away, I would like to learn more about you two, and what you have done. I find enjoyment in hearing stories.”

Navera and Naveriss looked to each other, and then to the Life-Binder. The grins on their faces were bright enough to shame the moon that was beginning to rise to the east. There was much to talk about with the Dragonqueen.

“Did he go into detail about our journey into Grim Batol?” Naveriss asked.

Alexstrasza shook her horned head in response. Grim Batol was… always a difficult subject for her. Still, there was nothing for her to gain if she ignored the past. Ignoring the past rarely benefited anyone.

“We had been tasked with various things when entering the abandoned Wildhammer fortress, among them freeing captured drakes of your flight, and slaying the Faceless waiting in…” Navera started, but then trailed off. She, mindful of whom she was speaking to, left the details unsaid; Alexstrasza knew better than anyone the tortures of that chamber deep within the fortress.

“When we came to face Erudax, the Duke of Below as he called himself, Varathael… sorry, Varathaelstrasz was… overtaken with a rage we had never before seen from him,” Naveriss added. She looked back and forth between Alexstrasza and Navera as they sat down near the Howling Oak in the northernmost part of Darnassus, the haven for the displaced Gilneans. The citizens looked at the three with rapt interest, but said nothing. “All throughout our descent we could see an unease, a restlessness even, in him. He was… afraid, and full of anguish. I could see it at the time, but I didn’t know why.”

“And then it exploded when he saw your eggs being… being corrupted. He rushed past Garinthal, who had always taken point and drawn the attention of any threats. It was… it was awesome to see, yet also terrifying. Varathaelstrasz was vicious and merciless, and the rest of us focused on protecting your eggs from being twisted into twilight dragons from his minions, aiding him whenever possible. But he did most of the work,” the worgen druid said.

“At the end of it all, Erudax was dead at his feet. When he turned to look at us, for a brief moment we thought we were seeing things. The glow of his eyes was gone and we thought we had seen red, reptilian eyes staring at us, but it went by so quickly we thought we were just seeing things.”

Naveriss shuddered at the thought. The Faceless One’s body was cut near to ribbons, and his blood dripped from the honed edge of Quel’Delar. Their friend’s movements, his speed, and his strength defied all that could be expected of a typical blood elf. He weathered blows that would have sent even Garinthal staggering if they had struck the human square in the chest, yet the “elf” had not so much as flinched.

“Gilbert was very cross with him. Told him that it was foolish of him to rush ahead like that when he could have possibly been killed,” she said.

Navera couldn’t help but snicker as she thought back to the worgen priest’s face when the battle had settled.

“He said something along the lines of ‘by the Light, how could you be so bloody _stupid_ as to charge ahead into the front line like that!? My power weakens as you get further from me. _Never_ do that again!’” she said, lowering her voice to imitate the gruff voice of the old wolf. She coughed, and started to clear her throat. “Sorry. My voice may be raspy after my own change, but hitting his register is still difficult.”

The Dragonqueen laughed. The two mortal women were rather charming. It was becoming easier to see just why her escort was so close to them. As they began to speak at length about the various adventures the group had, with several different people coming and going as locations and situations changed, Alexstrasza found herself saying little other than to ask further questions. Of particular interest was the discussion of their time in Outland, specifically when they were in what was called Shadowmoon Valley. It only took two names for her to give them her undivided, silent attention: Dragonmaw, and Zuluhed the Whacked.

The two noticed her body tense when the shaman came up in their talks, and it was immediately understood why; while Nekros had been the one to unlock and use the power of the Demon Soul to hold her and her flight captive, it was Zuluhed who had been led to the Demon Soul to begin with by visions, and who had concocted the plan to enslave her people. She had long wondered what befell him, as she could not find him to kill him as she had promised she would, though not for want of trying. He had just… vanished. To hear that he had fled to Outland, and was continuing to enslave dragons, specifically the Netherwing dragonflight, lit a fire in her that burned hot. On learning of the cruel orc’s demise at the hands of these adventurers, that rage was quenched and the tension fell away. “Thank you. Though Nekros died, and was the main tormentor of my people, it frustrated me to no end that his chieftain and the architect of my capture had escaped me for so long. Sixteen years after I was freed, if my understanding of the flow of time is correct. Time is… different for me, with how long I have lived. It is a relief.” “Speaking of Nekros,” Naveriss asked, “how _did_ he die?” “I ate him,” Alexstrasza said simply. “The taste was horrible, and he wasn’t particularly filling, but it was a satisfying meal.” The candor of her response caught the two off guard, and they looked at each other, uncertain of what to think or how to react. She had said it so bluntly that it reminded them of just how different from themselves she truly was. It seemed so at odds with her usual warmth, but on reconsideration the apparent contradiction vanished; Nekros had been her jailer and tormentor, had caused the deaths of innumerable children, was indirectly responsible for the deaths of three of her consorts, and had defiled the relationship that should have been loving and passionate between mates. He had twisted it into something forced, something so grotesquely painful on a physical and emotional scale. He had forced her consorts to _rape_ her, and given their own unwillingness, had effectively made her do the same to them. “But… let’s think of more pleasant topics. How did everyone in your company meet?” Alexstrasza asked. “Well, I had him with my arrow pointed at his throat when we first met,” Naveriss said shortly. “He was in a blood elf disguise, and there was… hostility at first, given the fact that Kael’thas Sunstrider and his followers forced my people to flee Outland on the Exodar. But there was something… different about him. He didn’t have that arrogance that was typical among the sin’dorei. There was a… serenity to him.” “She was sharing a bed with him three months later,” Navera said bluntly. The draenei gave the worgen a playful punch on the shoulder. Alexstrasza looked on, curious about the antics of the two. It was not unlike the typical relationship between siblings, teasing each other and yet supportive and inseparable no matter the hardship that would come. The red Aspect continued to ask them questions about their journeys. Navera spoke at length about her time as a Gilnean harvest-witch, journeying out to help the Alliance in spite of Greymane’s insistence on cutting off his kingdom from the world; she had been part of Darius Crowley’s domain, and her home was outside the area walled off by the king’s foolish idea. One of her traveling companions had been Gilbert Thorne, who had a farm in Crowley's lands and whom she had met prior. But his story was for him to tell. She spoke of learning more about proper druidism from the kaldorei. She spoke of her return to Gilneas, of being scratched by a worgen in the rebellion that had erupted… of her own change and of Lord Vincent Godfrey’s mistreatment of her and any other worgen. She had never liked Godfrey all that much. Alexstrasza listened with keen interest. This, to her, was what the journey was about. Learning about the lives and concerns of the citizens, and not just the leaders. It was far more illuminating to hear from the commoners than from the rulers, for they were the backbone of their civilizations, and the ones whose concerns typically reflected those of the kingdom as a whole, things that nobility are often distant from by virtue of their own prosperity and ideals. As the worgen of the Howling Oak, and the kaldorei of the city at large, saw and heard her speaking to and listening to the two champions’ tales, more began to gather around. She invited them to speak as well, and she would listen. It was as she had expected it to be and told Varathaelstrasz: the kaldorei were easily the race with the strongest relationship to the dragons, and so her time here was also as she had anticipated, and yet also not. Naveriss slipped away, excusing herself by saying she wanted to see Varathaelstrasz. Alexstrasza suspected she knew why, but said nothing. After all that has been experienced, her escort had certainly earned a reprieve. And with the worgen druid nearby, she felt safe. Darnassus was peaceful, and the culture of the kaldorei was one she was fond of and knew intimately. Another figure approached from the main road that ran through Darnassus, and the Dragonqueen raised her horned head to observe the new face. The worgen fell silent and looked on with respect as King Greymane approached them. “It is good to see you, Life-Binder,” the old human said. “And you as well, King Greymane. How may I be of assistance?” Alexstrasza asked. “I don’t know if it is something you could assist with. The curse was able to be… controlled thanks to a ritual the kaldorei conducted, but I was wondering if there is any way to possibly cure others of this curse?” Alexstrasza looked at him, eyes brimming with concern. With great regret, she shook her head, and looked at Genn. “I am sorry, King Greymane, but that is beyond even my power. The curse was brought on by a combination of the Emerald Dream’s power through Goldrinn, and the goddess Elune’s power. I am powerful, but I am no deity. I cannot overcome a goddess’ power. Ysera may be able to help, but the Emerald Dream is not something she controls, only something she oversees.” Genn shook his head sadly in response to her news, and closed his eyes. He had expected this answer, but that did not stop him from hoping that perhaps he would be mistaken in this case. “There is no need to apologize, Life-Binder. I had thought it was a longshot, but I still believed it would not hurt to ask. Thank you for giving me the time of day to explain why it isn’t possible. I think, in light of how strong you and the Aspects are as a whole, we tend to forget that you are not gods, and that there are still things that even you cannot do.” She smiled sadly in response. “We are just as fallible as mortals. We are still unable to do things, and certainly still capable of making mistakes. But, in my experience, because of our great power and abilities, our mistakes also tend to be greater, more… catastrophic.” The red-haired elf closed her eyes, deep in thought. “The creation of the Dragon Soul, the Sundering, my capture by the Dragonmaw and enslavement, the Nexus War, the Battle of Angrathar the Wrathgate… all were mistakes made by we dragons, and all had horrendous consequences for the world. War between the Alliance and Horde may have been avoided if I and my flight had been at the Wrathgate to begin with to destroy Arthas.” “Or you may have been driven out of the sky, slain, and turned into a slave of the Lich King’s far greater than Sindragosa. Had you been turned, it would likely have been the end of us all. Life is too fleeting to be spent on what-ifs, Life-Binder,” Genn said. He waited patiently for her to raise her head and look at him again. “All we can do is make our choices, and live, and potentially die, with the consequences. My son’s death has made me learn this lesson the hard way. Carrying regrets for the rest of your life is no real way to live.” “You’ve changed greatly, King Greymane. There was a time not so long ago that you were concerned only with how things would benefit your kingdom, and were not content to commit to an alliance against a force that had overthrown Stormwind. Now, however, you are one of its staunchest supporters in the wake of what befell your kingdom.” “Isolation has only ended with misery, loss, and death for my people. Individual strength is important, but…” Genn began. “We are greater when we turn that individual strength to a greater cause, and unite to make a strong coalition,” Navera finished. “It is a lesson that I and my fellow Aspects have only really embraced recently, thanks to Go’el. Do not worry, King of Gilneas. There is much that I have to learn myself. No one is omniscient, not even Nozdormu, and he can see all timelines,” Alexstrasza said. “In any case,” the older gentleman started, “if there is any way that I can assist you, Life-Binder, while you are here in Darnassus or in Stormwind, I will be happy to help you. Though I am puzzled; where is your traveling companion? I was told you had come here with your champion.” “He is… taking a well-deserved respite from his duties at present. He has earned the break after having gone to and fro for the past three days, getting everything communicated to you and the other leaders. It will be good for him to better connect with someone who he has forged a very strong bond with while acting on my behalf among the heroes of mortals,” Alexstrasza said diplomatically. Genn raised a brow at her choice of words, while Navera managed to, with some difficulty, keep a straight face. 

_I believe that such information about your two friends would be on a strictly need to know basis, and that the King of Gilneas is not among those who need to know._ Navera blinked; the Life-Binder’s mouth had not moved, yet her voice had reverberated in her head. And then she knew immediately; just like she had done with the mortal champions at the Wrathgate, the Dragonqueen had spoken to Navera just now with telepathy. None around them seemed to have noticed what Alexstrasza had said to her. It was a message meant for her, and her alone. 

All about them, kaldorei and worgen continued to speak with and question the Life-Binder after she gave them permission to do so. It was not every day that a mortal could talk with a Dragon Aspect, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter done! Also currently working on a small thing that goes between this chapter and the next. It was originally going to be part of this chapter, but as I was reviewing the chapter I felt that it it seemed far too out of place along with the rest of this chapter's content. In the mean time, please enjoy.


	6. Reparations

# Life Rekindled

### Reparations

Neltharion gazed about the Sholazar Basin as he flew overhead. Below, the wildlife had gone eerily quiet compared to its usual noisy activity. There were no sounds whatsoever save the rushing of water in the streams. Life had come to a complete standstill as the creatures below waited with bated breath. They could all sense the presence of the massive wyrm circling the skies above; predators knew when something was far and away more dangerous than they were, and for many a dragon was something just about no animal could deal with, let alone the largest living one.

The black Aspect was not hunting for prey, however; his mind was elsewhere entirely as he lazily glided over the jungle that stood in large contrast to the rest of the continent. Entire swathes of Northrend were largely a polar desert, in the cases of Icecrown to the northeast and the majority of Dragonblight to the southeast; another was a petrified, crystalline forest aptly named the Crystalsong Forest. To the immediate south was the Borean Tundra, with the home of the blue dragonflight, the frozen land of Coldarra, on the westernmost fringe; to the east were the most temperate areas of the continent, Grizzly Hills and the Howling Fjord; and to the furthest reaches in the northeast was the massive mountain range known as the Storm Peaks.

Neltharion’s attention was divided. The need for sustenance burned at him, as it had for these two weeks since Alexstrasza and her companion had departed for Darnassus to start her journey across Azeroth; however, another need had also sunk its claws into him. It was a strong desire of his, a compulsion almost, to try and repair the fractured ties with the blue dragonflight that he had single-handedly torn asunder more than ten thousand years ago. And yet fear took root in him as well, fear of being turned away without any chance to even try to make amends. But then, he would not blame them if that indeed came to pass.

_What am I, a mewling kitten?_ he thought.

If they attacked, which was a very real possibility, all he would need to do was turn and disengage. He was large enough and fast enough to easily make an egress out of a hostile situation. While he would like to believe that Kalecgos’... tolerance of his presence would send a similar message to the rest of his flight, he could not be certain. There were always elements of any group that would have treasonous thoughts or feelings. Kalecgos’ and Kirygosa’s objections to the Nexus War were proof positive of this, as were the actions Rheastrasza took to bring into effect the purging of the Old Gods’ contamination from his erstwhile grandson, Wrathion. Then there were the green dragons who had even willingly embraced the corruption of the Nightmare once it had its hold on them; three of Ysera’s lieutenants were lost forever to it, and her late prime consort was almost taken by the Nightmare a second time. And then there was his own flight; constantly distrusting of each other, they vied for power and influence, and each sought his approval in his period of madness. As soon as he appeared to be dead following the Battle of Grim Batol, that secret competition became overt, and his flight nearly tore itself to tatters trying to pick up the scraps his departure had left behind.

He could not be certain of safety if he approached Coldarra to the southwest, but even so, he had to try. It was unlikely they would make the first step toward reconciliation, nor should they; they were the wounded party, after all, and he was the one who inflicted injury. He only hoped that his genuine contrition would not be mistaken for a façade by the masters of the arcane. He had to show them, in some way, that he was not a threat. The question was: how? How could he do this? Words alone would not suffice; Varathaelstrasz himself had even made it clear that his words held little to no weight anymore with the other flights. It was the young wyrm— young compared to any of the Aspects, at least— who had reminded all and sundry at Wyrmrest Temple that his honeyed words had been poisoned when discussing the merits of creating the Dragon Soul so very long ago.

He wheeled about in the air, and turned in the direction of the home of the blue dragons. He would do whatever he could to placate them. Anything.

It was a simple, short flight to reach Coldarra, taking no more than a few minutes with the size and strength of his wings to reach his destination. The response was immediate; several draconic shapes, large and small but all in varying shades of azure, took to the skies and surrounded him almost instantly.

“Betrayer!” came a sharp, collective cry from the dragons who met him.

“How dare you trespass in our lands? Do not think that we have forgotten or forgiven you for what you did to us!”

Neltharion closed his eyes, and lit upon the frozen ground beneath himself and the angered blue dragons. His form shifted immediately to one much smaller, one that was far more humble in appearance compared to his true form. He stood as a tall, broad human with olive skin, medium-length dark hair, dark eyes, and dressed in what could only be described as tatters of black cloth with bare feet and hands. The blue dragons did not know how to respond to this change in form. He wore no finery or great armor to denote his status as a restored Aspect. He wore nothing to indicate that he would defend himself from harm; he had neither weapons nor armor with which to protect his current, frail form. And aside from that, the dragon whose pride was as legendary as his past wisdom and his wrath was dressed as a pauper might be, exposed to the elements as a beggar on the streets of Stormwind would be.

One blue dragon landed on the ground in front of the Black Aspect, her blue eyes focused on him. Her lips peeled back in a snarl; she did not trust him, not even in this form. Deception had always been one of his favorite tools since his fall to madness shortly before the War of the Ancients.

“Answer, now!” she demanded.

“Tyrygosa, I believe, yes?” Neltharion asked.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. He held up an open hand, and his other he placed onto his chest to display no weapon on his person.

“I came here with the hope that I might start trying to make amends. I doubt that I will ever be able to earn forgiveness or trust, nor do I expect you or the others of your flight to ever extend those to me. I doubt I’ll ever deserve them. What I’ve done is unconscionable and unforgivable, and no matter how Alexstrasza may protest, the actions were mine. I was still Deathwing, and they were still choices that I made, whether I was in my right mind or not.”

Tyrygosa’s body tensed, and in an instant she too had changed form, to that of a high elf with blue-black hair, bound in a high ponytail. A chill wind swept through the area, and her long hair billowed in its wake. Her eyes looked over the Aspect of Earth again, and the lack of any sort of reaction to the cold from the meagerly dressed dragonkin surprised her. If he was a blue dragon, it would be more understandable, but he had lived in the far warmer region of Deepholm for nearly twenty years now, since the Battle of Grim Batol, and she expected he would not be accustomed to the bitter cold of Northrend.

“You presume much. Who would ever work with you after all you did to our flight? You and yours nearly drove us to extinction with that damnable artifact of yours and the war your flight waged on the rest of us. Have you forgotten the destruction of Loreth’Aran and the slaughter of all the green dragons there? Have you forgotten your attempted assault on Tanaris and the bronze dragonflight? Have you forgotten what you did to Alexstrasza and her flight!?” she shouted.

The lack of any emotional response from the man opposite her quickly proved infuriating to her. It was not that she expected him to react with remorse, far from it. Certainly not shame. But she had expected him to react with anger and a fire in his eyes. And yet he stood there passively, allowing her to rage at him without offering so much as any sort of counterargument or defense.

“No. I have not forgotten. Since I was… rescued from my madness, everything that I have done during that time has weighed on my mind, heart and soul all at once. I have slept for perhaps a single day over these past three weeks. If it is my life you want as justice for all that I have taken from your flight and the others, then I offer it with no regrets or protest.”

He moved his hands to his sides, and balled them into fists. His face finally contorted into an expression of pain, sorrow, anger, and hatred all mixed together; Tyrygosa could see the tempest of negative emotions etched into every line of his face, and most strongly in his eyes. They were all directed not outward, but inward. It reminded her of… herself, not that long ago. It was when she had brought several of the nether dragons from Outland to the Nexus to stabilize their unstable forms that were on the verge of collapse.

The nether dragons were indeed stabilized by the prodigious amount of arcane energy they absorbed from the Nexus, but the power was too great. The onset of arcane addiction— something the blue flight had an innate immunity to, owing to their empowerment and charge from Norgannon to act as the custodians of Azeroth's arcane energy and magic itself— had been immediate and caused immense megalomania in them. They swore that they would be their own masters, and the masters of Azeroth, beholden to no one. Given their history, she couldn't blame them. However, she had seen fit to warn them that to do so would be to go down Deathwing’s path, and that Azeroth would rise up against them as it had against the black dragonflight. These words had given Zzeraku, the leader of the nether dragons who she had brought to the Nexus to save, a momentary pause.

However, their newfound power did them no good; her lord, Malygos, had awoken, still insane with loss and grief from the events of ten thousand years past, even if he was given some solace at the Battle of Grim Batol that Alexstrasza could help him and his. The nether dragons hat boasted that they were the Nexus… and Malygos took them at their word. As lord and master of it and magic on Azeroth, he absorbed them and the power they had obtained, which restored some measure of his sanity, but consigned the nether dragons to oblivion. Only Zzeraku survived, having fled… only to be captured by that contemptible wyrm, Sinestra, and his energies fed to her creation; the very first twilight dragon, Dargonax, who in his death throes took his “mother” with him. Sinestra remained dead for all of two years until Deathwing and the Twilight’s Hammer resurrected her, in a fashion, to fulfill the role that originally Alexstrasza had been meant to in her captivity; use as a breeding factory for Deathwing’s forces.

She blamed herself, then. She _still blamed herself, believing that if she had not brought the nether dragons to the Nexus, or if she had only done more to help them before taking them to the Nexus, perhaps Malygos would not have consumed them. Perhaps he never would have waged his damnable war against mortal mages. Perhaps he never would have forced Alexstrasza to form the Wyrmrest Accord that would spell the end for the Spell-Weaver. And, so, she understood that feeling of self-loathing she could see in the Earth-Warder’s eyes, for she herself had felt its keen sting for so long, now._

_Her body shrank down in an instant, the massive blue dragon replaced by a high elven woman with blue-black hair tied back into a long ponytail. She looked at Neltharion with cold, glowing blue eyes. Arcane energy fair radiated from this "princess of the blue flight" as she had been called before._

_"Suppose… that I am willing to humor you for a moment," she started. She saw him raise his head to look at her. It was that same hollow expression she had seen him with this entire encounter, and many of the times she had seen him at Wyrmrest Temple. “What is your purpose for coming here?”_

_“To start my atonement,” he answered flatly._

_Tyrygosa looked at him in silence for a moment, and then at the blue dragons hovering in the air above both of them. She finally sighed and shook her head, before focusing her sapphire eyes on the Earth-Warder again._

_“Then perhaps you need to go on a journey not unlike the Life-Binder’s. I will accompany you to ensure you do not stray,” she said. “However, first we need Kalec to do something.”_

_Neltharion looked at Tyrygosa with confusion._

_“To do what?”_

_“I need entry into the Eye of Eternity. This journey is as much something I need to do as you.”_

_She turned her head to look back at the massive spire of arcane energy in the center of Coldarra, surrounded by rings of stone. The Nexus was one of the most central locations of arcane energy in Azeroth, nearly as much as had existed in the Well of Eternity ten millennia ago, prior to the Sundering. It was there that the domain of the blue Aspect, the Eye of Eternity, could be found. And in the Steward of Magic’s domain could be found an artifact of great power: the Focusing Iris._

_“I see. When will Kalecgos arrive?” Neltharion asked._

_“I cannot say. He had to speak with Rhonin about something of great importance to both of them. Kalec is… trying to repair relations with the mortal mages that his predecessor left in tatters a couple of years ago.”_

_“Then I will wait. In whatever form you deem best.”_

_“Stay as you are… but wear more. The gesture is noted, but freezing will do you little good with how cold it gets here in Coldarra,” Tyrygosa said._

_He closed his eyes, and briefly took on his true form once more, before he shifted again to his mortal guise once again, though this time wearing a set of sturdy black armor, with slight trimmings of gold and silver, not unlike his hide._

_“Very subtle,” Tyrygosa said dryly._

_“It will help at least to identify who I am. And I have ever been the most durable of the Aspects, it seems only fitting that I would wear armor, compared to Nozdormu, Malygos, or Kalecgos,” Neltharion replied._

_“Fair point. Now then, perhaps I should explain what I expect us to do while we wait?”_

_“I’ll make sure not to miss a word.”_

_It was… strange, to see an Aspect, let alone the strongest of them, so subservient to an ordinary dragon, especially one of a different flight. The other blue dragons flew further afield, still ready to respond in case of treachery, but suitably assured that Tyrygosa had the situation well in hand. They knew the plan she had, and they agreed that it needed to be done, but never had they expected a black dragon would be on hand to assist with it. They had expected that she would need to turn to Go’el and the Earthen Ring’s shamans in order to assist her with the half of the job she herself could not do. This was… an unforeseen event, and they were not sure whether it was a blessing or a curse; on the one hand the Earth-Warder had command over the elements that no mortal shaman could rival, and could repair the damage to the lands of Azeroth done by the surge needles with ease; but on the other, this was the one who had annihilated their flight, and it has taken them over ten thousand years to recover, and they lost some of those recovered numbers in the Nexus War._

_“As you know, the surge needles redirected the flow of mana from specific points on ley lines across Azeroth to the Nexus, and then later to my flight’s burial ground during the Nexus War. While we have started to fix them, using the Arcanomicon that was entrusted to Malygos, the land surrounding them remains damaged and crystalline. There are still some areas left that need the mana flow restored to normalcy, but we could do very little to repair the ground in the places that have been restored. We would need several powerful shamans, or someone of Go’el’s strength, or—”_

_“Me?” Neltharion cut in. He saw her nod in response. “I will do what I can to help. There are… places of the world that I need to fix, and start creating natural barriers that will help to prevent competition among the races.”_

_“I don’t know if that will be possible anymore,” Tyrygosa replied, “the mortal races are now capable of mass travel by flight using airships. Their ingenuity is… impressive, but it does make your work far more difficult. After all, you can’t just raise mountain ranges everywhere. It would run counter to your original charge, and to the charge of Ysera and her flight.”_

_“Though why do we require Kalecgos to enter the Eye of Eternity?” Neltharion asked._

_“Malygos created and activated the surge needles by opening the Focusing Iris with his own blood. I am not a child of Malygos as Arygos was, and so I cannot use my own blood to open the Focusing Iris. Kirygosa is… still recuperating after what she suffered at the hands of the Twilight’s Hammer, and so it falls to Kalecgos to open the Focusing Iris to use its full power to deactivate the surge needles that have not yet been neutralized, and call them back here to Coldarra.”_

_Neltharion looked at her with confusion._

_“There are surge needles that haven’t been neutralized? Wasn’t the Nexus War waged and ended in the early stages of the War Against the Lich King waged by the mortals?” he asked._

_“Yes. But given how the war ended with Malygos’ death, and Arygos was so much in agreement with Malygos that he disrespected Alexstrasza and was picking a fight with her during a meeting between the red, green, and blue flights that was interrupted by the twilight dragonflight attacking, and then tried to sell our allegiance to the Old Gods, it hasn’t exactly been possible to get an Aspect’s bloodline to contribute to disabling the handful that are active, until Kalec was elevated. And then his attention was focused on averting the Hour of Twilight; the surge needles were less of a threat than the end of the world.”_

_He raised a finger and opened his mouth to interject, but realized he had no counterargument, and just as quickly shut his mouth. Her logic was sound… leave it to the blue dragonflight to, generally, be the dragons most prone to reason. Usually. There were, of course, some exceptions…_

_“Of course, we could journey to Dalaran ourselves if the need is urgent,” Tyrygosa said._

_“Somehow I think the Kirin Tor would not take kindly to me flying in skies so close to their floating city. Especially not after I had helped the Horde attack and escape from them during the Second War…”_

_“They’re allowing a blue dragon among them to speak with their leader, despite our past war with them. Mortals can be paradoxically among the most vengeful beings, but also among the most forgiving,” Tyrygosa retorted._

_“Then let us go to Dalaran. I much prefer flying than standing around in the cold,” the Earth-Warder replied._

_Their forms shifted in the blink of an eye, and the two immediately flew east-northeast towards the Crystalsong Forest. Northrend was a large continent, but Neltharion’s size allowed him to cross the skies faster than most might be able to. Though he knew he could fly faster than Tyrygosa and could have had her, in her mortal form, on his back to make the trip faster, he suspected she would not have agreed with this plan, and kept his peace. She was not going to make herself vulnerable in a mortal form on his back when she still did not trust him. No sane person would._

_The journey was a mercifully short one by way of flight. The black Aspect was not sure that he would be able to land safely in any of the areas of Dalaran, not even on Krasus’ Landing. He came to the idea, risky as it was, to shift to his mortal form to land upon Tyrygosa’s back, and to disembark once she herself landed on the protruding platform. Tyrygosa was unsure, but given his immense size, it was the only feasible option._

_Several magi on the terrace looked at the two new arrivals, unable to take their gaze from the human in black armor climbing down from the back of a blue dragon. The pair walked on once Tyrygosa had taken her mortal form once more, past the staring mortals, and towards the Violet Citadel on the southwestern corner of the largest of the floating islands. There they were stopped by two guards._

_“What business do you have with Rhonin?” one, a high elf, asked._

_“I am Tyrygosa. My Aspect is speaking with him at present, but something urgent has come up and I and my associate must speak with Kalecgos at once. This is a serious matter; we need his assistance to help disable the last of the surge needles around Azeroth that Malygos had sent out.”_

_The two guards stared at the human male they saw with Tyrygosa, wondering why he stayed silent, but said nothing. They let both through, though the guards could not help but wonder just who the human was._

_Up the central staircase they ascended towards the door to the staircase that would lead to the Purple Parlor, which swung open for them with no one behind it._

_“Rhonin knows we are here, then,” Neltharion said._

_“Naturally. The guards undoubtedly let him know. He will, however, recognize you given your history.”_

_She walked ahead of him, and didn’t see the Aspect of Earth bow his head._

_“That’s what I’m afraid of…” he muttered. He followed after her without another word up the staircase._

_The Purple Parlor was exactly as its name suggested; decorated in rich, vibrant shades of purple as befitted the Kirin Tor. Though there were usually several magi to be found in the walls of the room, on this occasion there were only two prior occupants: the leader of the Kirin Tor, Rhonin Redhair, and the Aspect of Magic, Kalecgos. The attire that both wore could not be any more different; Rhonin was dressed in violet armor with a cloak draped from his back. Kalecgos, on the other hand, was dressed very simply in a white shirt with brown leather fast and pants and boots. A blue cloak was draped from his neck, and at his waist was a set of blue tassets with a blue gem in the center of his chest, attached to the vest by way of additional brown leather straps._

_“Kalecgos really could do with a better wardrobe for his mortal form, especially given his new station…” Neltharion muttered._

_Both of the men turned to face the newcomers, and the scowl that darkened the red-haired human’s face was impossible to miss._

_“Deathwing,” Rhonin said darkly._

_“Call me that if you must, though I am not he. Not anymore,” Neltharion said._

_“You’ll forgive me if I remain skeptical. I’m not exactly leaping to believe that claim, given our history,” the archmage said coolly. He held his staff tightly in his right hand. “Considering you used me to help steal Alexstrasza’s eggs that you then turned into twilight dragons? Oh, you didn’t get all of them, but you got enough, and that’s all that matters to me. And then your forces were responsible for my master’s death! Do not expect a warm welcome from me, Xaxas, because you have not earned it.”_

_Neltharion flinched, and for a moment was surprised that the human had referred to him with a Darnassian epithet, but thinking back on it, it wasn’t terribly surprising. It was a name the elves called him, and one that the archmage’s wife had undoubtedly used to speak of him in the past._

_“I do not deny that I am guilty of all you claim. But I did not come to speak with you, Rhonin Redhair. Tyrygosa and I have an urgent need to speak with Kalecgos.”_

_The blue-black haired half-elf looked at the two, puzzled by their presence._

_“What do you need my assistance with?” he asked._

_“We need the Focusing Iris to be activated to direct the restoration of the ley lines to their proper flow, and then to shut down and recall the remaining surge needles around Azeroth. Neltharion will be restoring the lands that the surge needles had torn asunder in the shifting of the ley lines during the Nexus War,” Tyrygosa explained._

_The blue Aspect looked at them both, puzzled. The thought of having a black dragon assist with the restoration of lands had not occurred to him, granted such a concept was not considered to be possible with the state of the black dragonflight as a whole.  
There were more lands that had been devastated in the Shattering when Deathwing first broke into Azeroth from Deepholm than there were lands that still needed healing from the surge needles’ destructive terraforming._

_“What of other lands that were damaged by Deathwing’s return to this world? The Barrens, for instance, were divided in two with a massive, molten ravine.”_

_“The Barrens will not be restored to a single continuous state,” Neltharion said matter of factly. He noticed the looks of confusion that they gave him in response to his sudden utterance. “The ravine now acts as a physical barrier for the Horde’s ground troops and the Alliance’s, and will delay deployment of troops to act against each other. Northwatch would not hold long if the Barrens were restored, and Theramore would follow shortly after, if the current Warchief of the Horde is as bellicose as I have heard.”_

_Rhonin listened to his explanation, intrigued by the amount thought that the black dragon had put into just this situation, despite the question having only been raised a moment ago. Perhaps Neltharion’s reputation for wisdom that he had heard of in his accidental foray into the War of the Ancients was not without merit._

_“As Aspect of Earth, it was my duty to ensure that natural boundaries were in place to prevent competition among mortal races for resources. With the advent of airship technology that is more difficult, but there is still work I can do on this front for grounded races, and to make it more difficult for armed conflict to break out on foot.”_

_“Much of Gilneas collapsed into the sea, as did a significant portion of Stormwind City and Darkshore. Is there anything that can be done in those locations?” Kalecgos asked._

_Neltharion closed his eyes, deep in rumination._

_“It depends. I would have to see the devastation myself. It may take too much effort to raise the collapsed lands out of the sea, if it is even possible at all. The sunken portions may already be eroded by the sheer force of the waves. I should, however, be able to calm the elements…”_

_Kalecgos looked to Rhonin and bowed politely._

_“My apologies, Draig’cyfail, but this seems to be something that cannot wait. Perhaps we can arrange to meet again soon?”_

_“We shall see. I will contact you with a time in which we can meet. Go on, then,” the red-haired human said with a smile on his face._

_The three dragons left at his insistence, and Rhonin could not help but let out a sigh. He turned to a cabinet nearby, with a collection of scrolls left behind by his mentor and patron._

_“Krasus, my friend… how I wish I could entreat you for guidance once more. And I fear for how your beloved is coping with your loss,” Rhonin muttered._

_He turned on his heel, and walked down the stairs to his home. Now that his business was concluded, it was past time he kept his wife and their twin sons, Giramar and Galadin. This was a time of transition and uncertainty for the entire world; the Aspects had lost much of their power, the Guardians of Tirisfal were no more with Khadgar’s conscious decision not to take up his fallen mentor’s mantle, and the most powerful forces to deal with the threats of Azeroth were now, without question, the Alliance and Horde. But with the highest leader of each faction known for their brashness, how long would this uneasy peace hold? Deathwing and preventing the Hour of Twilight had given them a common enemy again. With that common enemy gone, however…_


End file.
